Dance of the Huntress
by El Stormo
Summary: No predator is always safe. Another Tanira Del Rey story, it's been ages since I wrote one. I've taken even more liberties with this one than with the ones before, hope you enjoy it!
1. The Hunt Begins

******To my faithful and infinitely appreciated "From The Underground"-readers,**

**Don't worry, I'm not abandoning my big project, I've just been neglecting Tanira and my Bloodlines short stories for too long so I've taken a short break from writing on FtU, but fret not, by the time you'll read this, I'll be writing the next FtU chapter already.**

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If there's one thing all different myths, legends or stories about Vampires have in common, it's the role we play. They're all different, of course, at least, the details are, but in the end, they all see us as hunters. At least, the more sane members of the human race do. I don't count the retrasados who think we sparkle in the sun. Their conceptions about our motivations, sanity, degree of evil and all those things vary, but whether we are seen as feral monsters, cold, calculated parasites or cursed, pitiable creatures who prey on humans out of need, we are hunters. On this, all views agree.

Not all humans are content with this state of affairs however, and some, a tiny fraction of the species, have the desire to reverse these roles. Most of them are harmless, deluded and ignorant, draping their houses with garlic or etching superstitious symbols on the walls of their homes, thinking it will keep us at bay, but some… some _know_. Know we exist, and know that while powerful, we are not invulnerable. And they know how we can be destroyed.

These are the ones _we_ know as Hunters. They are still the frail things all humans are, but they are armed. Some with stakes and torches, others with guns, and a terrible few with the power of their faith, not the crackpot psychic powers they see on TV or the make-believe tonterías written in their Bible or Torah or Qur'an, no, the real thing, that intangible, indefinable spiritual power that can blind us, make us howl in pain, or, so I'm told, can reduce us to ash in a single instant when exposed. A lot of it is probably exaggerated and cuento de hadas, but that this power is real and to be feared is certain.

While there are doubtless Hunters out there that operate alone, most of them are part of an organized group. Trained by secret societies, often at the order of special branches of the different churches of the world, they seek out Vampires in all parts of the world, observe their targets carefully, and strike. They know that in a straight fight, they're no match for a Vampire, not even the most alfeñique Toreador, so they bide their time and pounce when their target is at their most vulnerable. It's a technique we would be hypocritical to condemn.

Since my death, I'd been ambivalent to humans. On the one hand, I saw them with contempt for their weakness, their frailty, and most of all, their conceited ignorance. On the other hand, how I envied them. My transition from life to undeath had technically been a conscious choice, but it had been one I'd made without having even the faintest idea of what awaited me. The emptiness inside, being no longer a creature of the light, longing for a sun I yearned for and hated at the same time, never being able to enjoy those small but wonderful things which made a human life worth living, they all washed over me at times, making me feel so melancholic I could do nothing for an entire night but spend it staring at the ceiling. If I'd known it'd be like this, I would have allowed the rest of my blood to flow out of the two bullet holes in my belly on that horrible night, my revenge be damned.

There was no changing the past, however, and the reality was as it was. I looked down on humans, but at the same time, I wanted nothing more than to be like them again. I spent a long time of my undeath feeling only those two things, until the night I also learned to fear them. It was the night I became both hunter and prey to Chastity.

It wasn't the first time I came to Hollywood, I'd visited the place before, on my search for the Ankaran sarcophagus, when I raided a crypt looking for a dead woman called Ginger Swan, and then found myself crawling through the rotting flesh of a villa in the Hollywood Hills, filled with horrible two-legged abominations made from the warped and twisted bodies of human beings. That ordeal had ended with me broken and impaled by a Tzimisce monstrosity, whom I'd finally extinguished, though not without coming to within an inch of Final Death myself.

I'd gotten a little closer to the sarcophagus, however, and while the Prince's agents attempted to corroborate the lead I'd been given by the late Gorgeous Gary Golden, now a hideous Nosferatu, my own Master – my _real_ Master – had given me the assignment to investigate a request for help by one of the local Toreador. I'd been given instructions to take a taxi to Hollywood and look for a club called Vesuvius.

I was never a fan of Hollywood. The place wasn't what many people thought. Sure, there was Hollywood Boulevard, and the Walk of Fame, and all those high-profile hotspots, but once you went off those streets, you found yourself in a poor, hopeless town inhabited by poor, hopeless people shuffling across littered streets, driving beat-up cars and seeking solace in liquor and drugs. It was a dangerous place for anyone, Vampires too. After all, it's risky feeding on those who have all kinds of substances rushing through their blood.

Vesuvius lay in a side street of Hollywood Boulevard. Not so close to the tourist attractions as to be financially unviable, but not so far that locals and tourists with cash to spend after daylight would be unable to find its doors. It was a rather fancy club, a bit out of place between the poorly maintained houses that made up the street. Its front wall was smooth, dark glass with two horizontal lines of red neon bisecting it. The thumping of music could be heard to the street, but not as loudly and obnoxiously as that of dance clubs. In bright red neon, above the door, was the logo, bold red letters saying VESUVIUS. My master had simply called it a club, but I was pretty certain it was a place where clothes, at least for females, weren't mandatory.

I pushed the door open and an oppressive warmth floated lazily into my face, an unpleasant contrast with the gentle chill outside. The vestibule was nothing but red, both the carpets and the wallpaper had a scarlet colour, probably to evoke the idea of passion and desire in humans, an effect which was all but lost on me.

"We have a dress code here, miss," a gruff voice grunted at me as I entered. It belonged to a muscled tree trunk of a man wearing black jeans and a black shirt, and for some inexplicable reason, sunglasses. His head was shaved, making the wire of his earpiece extra-apparent. Clipped to the breast pocket of his shirt was a badge saying SECURITY. Ah, a rent-a-cop.

It was early, and I was alone in the vestibule. An hour or two from now, the place would be chock full of people queuing to be let in. "I'm here to see the owner," I simply said.

The bouncer let out a humourless chuckle. "Yeah, everyone hopes they'll get to see the owner some day, but you'll have to settle for her employees." Giving me a dismissive glance, he added, "But you'll need to go home and change first. At least smart casual required."

Gah, stupid clubs and their stupid dress codes. "What's wrong with my clothes?" I asked, even though I knew the answer.

He gave a short, lopsided grin and then answered, taking plenty of effort to make sure I knew he was indulging me. "You can't come in here looking like a vagrant. No faded blue jeans, no worn leather jackets, no dirty combat boots, and no damn T-shirts."

"Look, I'm not a customer, alright?" This guy was gonna be difficult, and I decided to burn some of the blood in me to project an intimidating aura through the Presence discipline, even though my ability in it was rudimentary at best, having focused almost all my attention on the Celerity discipline. Feeling a subtle but noticeable air of awe emanate from me, I repeated, "I want you to let me in, right now."

"Was that supposed to be scary?" the bouncer mocked. "Cause it's not working, and you're not getting in dressed like that." Then the cabròn actually had the nerve to shoo me away with his hand. "Go on, out."

My Presence fell apart around me, the collapse feeling as if the surrounding air itself dropped away, and at my own failure and his mocking tone, my anger rose. Frustrated, I snapped, "Don't be an asshole, get out of the way."

The bouncer crossed his arms and said calmly, "For the last time, you're not coming in here dressed like that. Not even on cinco de mayo. And don't call me an asshole, you dumb spic."

Inside every Vampire, even the most composed one, lurks the Beast. It's part of what makes us what we are, a primal and brutal force that, if left unchecked, will turn even the most timid Vampire into a roaring, mindless, rampaging monster. The Beast waits most of the time, patiently biding its time until its vessel is weak, hungry or provoked, rising to the surface so quickly that it can be unstoppable, whipping its vessel into a raging frenzy that only subsides when the Beast is slaked with enough blood and violence. Some of us are more easily riled than others, depending on personality, mental fortitude, and most importantly, bloodline. The curse of Caine manifested itself in us Brujah as an increased vulnerability to the Beast, and even though I did not descend from the usurper Troile as most modern-day Brujah did – or at least, so I was told by my Master – Brujah blood was volatile, even in the most disciplined Kindred.

It was the claws of this Beast I felt, hooking into my soul as it began its climb inside of me, rising, hoping to be taste the crushingly warm air inside the club. I set my teeth, as I always did when I felt the rage coming on, closed my eyes and said, again, "I'm here to see the owner. She's expecting me. For your own safety, let me in."

This time, he seemed to be getting convinced, because I heard the bouncer's voice becoming slightly insecure. "Hey, take it easy, alright? This place has a dress code, it's the rules, I don't make them."

Visions flashed inside my head of my nails ripping into the bouncer's muscled neck, the blood flying from the gashes, my fangs sinking inside his throat, listening to his pleas as I drained his arteries and made him pay for his insolence and my humiliation in a mist of hot air, swirling red with innumerable droplets of blood. I felt my hands hooking into claws. There would be no stopping it soon, but maybe I didn't want to stop it. The Beast inside me whispered wordlessly, promising me ecstasy and release, an orgasmic rapture of oblivious and complete freedom. Summoning up all my willpower, I fought the temptation with all my strength and managed to growl through the exertion, "Apologize to me. Take back what you said."

"Whoa, hey, come on, this isn't worth – "

My willpower was on the verge of giving out. My mouth and throat had gone cork dry, begging for warm, sublime blood. My entire body was trembling with barely contained rage. "Save us both and apologize. Say you're sorry. Do it now or I'll kill you." Inside my mouth, I felt my fangs slowly extend. The man only had seconds to live.

My eyes still closed, I heard the bouncer's voice change, directed at someone else in surprised worry. "Hey, stop. Miss Velvet, you shouldn't go near her, this bitch is some kind of psycho or something." I stood shaking with fury, feeling my upper lip pulling back.

A soft, gentle voice said, "Oh, I doubt it. She's just a little lost and needs some help finding the way."

"Miss Velvet – "

Two fingertips gently came to rest on my cheek, and in a few seconds, I felt the rage draining from me as the Beast lay down and was softly coaxed back to sleep. I felt immensely tired but the all-consuming rage had abated, and the feeling was indescribably soothing. I'd heard of Vampires possessing the skill to calm the Beast, but this was the first time I'd felt it myself, the howling fury gently silenced. I managed to open my eyes and looked into those of possibly the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen, and probably would ever see. Her eyes were a cold, soothing blue, contrasting sharply but gorgeously with her fiery red hair, worn tied back with two scarlet locks loose and framing the side of her delicate, pale face. Her lips were bright red, narrow and sensuous, one corner of her mouth slightly curled. She was nothing short of breathtaking, and it wasn't just her face. Her body was just as perfect, clad in enticing lingerie which was revealing yet classy, a gossamer, skin-tight camisole hugging her firm breasts and flat belly, and a red lace cheeky emphasizing her curved hips and firm backside.

"Feeling better now?" she asked in her husky, sensuous voice, slightly tilting her head.

"Yes, I… what did you do to me?"

She gave a quiet, short laugh, then said in my ear, "The Gangrel are not the only ones who know the Song of Serenity."

I'd never heard of such a thing, but it had worked beautifully, quieting the boiling anger inside of me. "I'm… sorry about this," I managed to say. I had been _this_ close to frenzying and breaking the Masquerade in Hell-knows-how-many ways.

"No apology necessary. There is great beauty in passion as well as serenity. You're the one the Archon sent?"

"Yeah."

She smiled again. "Please, let's go somewhere a little more… private." Then she turned to her bouncer. "Greg is one of my most valued employees, and I apologize to you both for not informing him of your coming, so this… awkwardness could have been avoided."

"Yeah," I merely said. "It could have been." With the soothing effect still coursing through me, I was able to tell the bouncer, "Misunderstanding, I guess?"

Greg the bouncer stuck to a neutral, "Seems so."

"This way," the red-haired vamp said, leading me not into the club, but through a door in the side of the vestibule, marked PRIVATE. She punched in a four-digit code on the keypad by the door, and it unlocked with a _beep_ and a _clack_. She held open the door and motioned for me to enter. "Please."

The private room looked like a luxury suite, with a jacuzzi made of black, veined marble, with a view on a black, flat-screen TV suspended on the wall, a priceless-looking mahogany desk, and a king size bed made up with red silk sheets, arranged perfectly, without a single crease. There was even a polished metal dancing pole next to the jacuzzi. A single poster was attached to the black marble wall above the jacuzzi, one of my red-haired hostess in an enticing position on the dance pole. Only two red letters were written on the poster: VV.

She motioned for me to sit down on the red leather sofa in the corner, sitting down on the bed herself and crossing her legs. "I don't think you'll get much of a rise from Vesuvius, being what you are. I'd like to thank you for coming, first and foremost."

"I'm here because my Master sent me here, it's him you should be thanking," I said to that. It's not like I'd had much of a choice in the matter.

"Mmmm-hmmmm, I will, without doubt. My name is Velvet... Velvet Velours, but I let my friends call me VV."

Of course she was expecting me to declare myself her friend and use her nickname, but not so fast. "Right. My name's Tanira, so what did you need help with?"

She smiled, trying to appear patient. "Tanira Del Rey, yes, so I've heard. No need to resort to business just yet. Isn't this pleasant? Just a short moment, just the two of us... away from Jyhad and politics and power struggles?"

"I suppose." I was never really one for small talk, it just wasn't one of the things I was good at, but the Toreador just _loved_ faking they were still human. By making small talk, dressing seductively, and keeping as close to humans as they could, something all us other clans simply couldn't understand.

She gave that understanding smile again and came to the point. "The reason I asked for your aid is because I, and the rest of the Hollywood Kindred, have found ourselves under surveillance."

Vampires spied on each other, even the dullest Neonate knew that, so what she was telling me wasn't exactly earth-shattering. Kindred were always blackmailing, politicking, eavesdropping and scheming. Which was, incidentally, why I was glad I worked for my Sire and simply had to follow orders, even if I was blood bound. It was comforting somehow. Reassuring.

"Being spied on should be nothing new for a Vampire?"

Another patient half-smile. "Indeed, but we're used to being observed by our fellows and their associates. This is something else entirely."

I wished she'd get to the point. "Yes?"

She leaned in towards me and said quietly, in her husky voice, "I'm talking about another threat entirely. Humans have been stalking us. Hunters."

I'd heard of Hunters, even encountered one when I was looking for a Malkavian called Alistair Grout. The confrontation had lasted mere seconds, however, because the German bastard had made a quick escape. He'd made short work of the Malk though, knowing exactly what to do and how. The fact that the Primogen had been staked, and then left for the sunrise meant he knew that a wooden stake through the heart simply sent a vampire into paralysis, unlike most humans, who believed their movies and their books that said a stake killed Vampires outright. It had saved quite a few of us.

Competent or not, Hunters were bad news. They knew our vulnerabilities, and constantly endeavoured to obtain proof of our existence. That we live in an age of cell phone cameras meant we were constantly walking a very thin rope. I'd needed certainty before just believing this Toreador's hunch, however. "What makes you think they're Hunters and not just shovelhead ghouls?"

She looked away. "One of them worked in my club until recently."

Oh dear, that was more than simply embarrassing, letting a Hunter get so close to you. The poseurs' love of humans tended to make their judgment somewhat cloudy when it came to protecting themselves from Hunters and their sort, and the Hunters in question knew this, seeking out the more artistic and poetic among our kind. That the human had gotten so close was ad enough, but that Velvet hadn't destroyed him instead of just kicking him out was a serious error in judgment. "So, wait, you found out he was a Hunter and you _only _fired him?"

Her eyebrows frowned, barely perceptibly, as if she was in pain or ashamed. "Her. And I didn't know she was a Hunter when I terminated our agreement."

This was a bit confusing. "So why 'd you fire her then?"

"I found a weapon in her locker, and I work too hard to keep this club under the police's radar to allow my dancers to carry weapons."

"Right. So why are you sure she's a Hunter and not just some stripper who's afraid of being mugged?"

Her eyes narrowed. "A _dancer_." Right, strippers insisted to be called 'dancers'. It was like whores insisting they be called 'escorts', or even more laughably, 'companions'. Whatever, if they thought using another word changed the fact that they got naked for money, then let them have their delusions.

"Right. _Dancer._ So, what makes you think she's a Hunter?"

"She kept coming to the club, sometimes even disguised, just watching me."

I shrugged. "Could have been bad at taking the pink slip. It's not just us Vampires that can get psychotic over insignificant things."

"I I tried to tell myself that's what it was for a while. But then Ash, from the Asp Hole, a club on Hollywood Boulevard, told me he'd seen her observing him too. One of his ghouls managed to search her handbag and found a card with contact information for the Society of Leopold."

Yep, that confirmed it. The Society of Leopold, a successor of the old Inquisition. The most feared order of Hunters, and also the most efficient. We Kindred were the number one predator for our own species, but the Society had done in quite a few as well, and not just runts, but some high-profile targets too. They'd gone after my Master at one time, and though their attempt had failed, I'd been told he'd never been so tense as he had been until the Hunters were caught. Both were beheaded and dumped in a landfill, but they had succeeded in destroying two of my fellow agents even after we'd exposed them as Hunters. "Yeah, if it's those hijos de puta, then you've got a problem, that much is clear." I kept it to myself, but I was definitely _not_ looking forward to this, but if my Master sent me to get the job done, then that's what I had to do. "Any idea where she is now?"

"None. She stopped spying on me a few days ago, but I'm not so foolish as to think it was because she gave up."

No. No, I didn't think so either. Hunters tended to back off when their prey smelled them, to return and strike later. I also knew it'd be too much to hope for that she'd been killed or incapacitated somehow. You simply never have that kind of luck. "Right. Tell me all you know about her."

She nodded. "She worked for me under the name of Chastity."

I couldn't repress a chortle. "That should have tipped you off that something was fishy. A stripper using the name Chastity."

"Dancer. And I simply reasoned it was because she wanted to attract men with the lure of the forbidden. She frequented Ash's club under the same name, so with any luck, she's still using it."

"Right. What's she look like?"

"Medium height, boyish build. Blue eyes. Blonde hair." With a disdainful frown, she added, "On top."

I jotted everything down in the old notebook I still had from when I was alive. It still had notes about old cases, and oddly enough, I'd never managed to throw it out, despite the fact that using it broke my heart, or maybe just because of it. "Any distinguishing features?"

"She has a broken heart tattoo on the small of her back, red with a black outline."

"Right, broken heart ass antlers."

"If you must call them that. A few piercings too. Left eyebrow, a row of them in her right ear, and... well, that's all for the visible ones."

I only noted the visible ones. "Anything else that can help me find her?"

"I'm... sorry, but no. Ash might be able to give you some more information though. It was his ghoul that went through her belongings."

"Asp Hole, on Hollywood Boulevard, right?"

"Mmmm-hmmmm."

"Right, I'll go have a look there." This wasn't going to be easy. L.A. was a big city, and if you wanted to disappear, you just did. Well, if you were a normal human, not a local celebrity like the Vampires that were now quaking in their shoes. "Until then, make sure you're guarded during the day, alright?"

"Mmmmm-hmmmm."

I got up and slid my notebook in my jacket pocket. "I need to go now, I'll keep you posted."

"Would you like a drink before you go?"

I was rather hungry, as it happened. Usually I'd decline when people offered me drinks or other refreshments, because, well, being what we are, we don't eat or drink, at least, not normal food and drink. But when a Vampire offered another a drink, it was usually rather obvious what he meant. Most Vampires kept blood packs in their fridges in case of emergency, and offering one to a visitor was not unheard of. It was also rather rude to decline such a gift, since blood was life, and such a precious gift shouldn't really be refused. "That would be nice, yeah."

She gave another smile, rose, walked to her desk and pressed the intercom key. "Greg, send in Misty for me, if you will?"

"Right away, Miss Velvet."

Misty was probably a servant who'd bring the vitae, decanted in crystal glasses or whatever the way these Toreador consumed blood. Yet the woman in lingerie coming into the office didn't carry glasses or a decanter. "Hello, Misty, thank you for coming. My friend is rather thirsty, if you care to offer her some refreshment? You can waive the fee this once." She turned to me. "It's on the house."

Oh, a blood doll. How nice. Blood was best warm and straight from the artery, but very few Kindred had the luxury of keeping blood dolls, usually ghouls they had an immense degree of power over, since offering one's blood on a regular basis – especially to others – wasn't part of a standard master/ghoul relation. Sure, the master wouldn't shy away from the occasional drink from a ghoul, in emergencies or for convenience, but a ghoul kept strictly for feeding purposes, as a piece of livestock really, tended to become rebellious and treacherous after a while, so keeping a blood doll was risky business unless you had some powerful leverage over the ghoul in question, and it was probably like that with this one. It wasn't my business how or what though, and I didn't ask, merely brushed the hair away from her neck and let my fangs sink in.

I wasn't going to reach the Asp Hole that night. It was getting late, summer nights were short, and I definitely did not intend to be surprised by the sunrise and burn to ash in the street. That would just be humiliating.

"Where to?" the cabbie asked as I got in.

"Skyeline apartments."

The drive was quiet, Danny was at the wheel, and I often had the luck of having him as driver: he didn't blab on with useless chatter, and we both simply listened to the radio usually, some oldie station playing easy listening music. We knew each other by first name, and we'd exchanged a few words in the beginning, but we both valued a quiet drive above chattering. The only talk he made tonight was briefly asking if he had to change the station, but it was fine with me. Oldies weren't particularly exciting but at least they weren't the junk you saw on TV these days.

I paid the cab driver and got out, only to chuckle to myself when I saw his cab getting rear-ended by another driver, a female, who got out and started apologizing in a panic. A lot of drama over a fender bender, heh. I was female myself, but damn, we weren't exactly the gender with the reputation of most capable drivers, and Danny, when he _did_ open his mouth, complained about female drivers all the time. 'Should all just take a cab like you, miss Del Rey.'

The door to my apartment opened with the reassuring _clack_ I was so used to when I swiped my key card through the slot. It had been a Haven loaned to me by the Prince, supposedly as a service to the Archon, but the more time I spent in it, the more I began to secretly hope I'd get the place for myself. It wasn't like my Master's safe house in Santa Monica, that crappy tiny apartment above the pawn shop I'd had to use in the beginning. True, it was a safe house and not a real Haven, so luxury wasn't necessary (most of the time, no one lived there anyway), but it had still been pretty discouraging coming 'home' to that place de mala muerte every morning. No, this place was far better, a true Haven, with all the necessary comforts, including a bathroom with bath and separate shower cabin, unlike the Santa Monica safe house, which only had a low shower basin with a curtain. Our bodies don't produce sweat and therefore exude no odour, but I still made a habit of showering daily, so I could start the night refreshed and properly awake after a day of torpor, and wash off the smell of car exhaust and cigarette smoke and all those other night polluters.

I still hadn't gotten myself a ghoul, even though it'd be nice to have someone keeping the place a bit cleaned up and standing guard during the day. I made a mental note to ask my Master for permission to get myself one. I was a servant of the Archon, surely I wasn't supposed to do my laundry and vacuum cleaning myself? It'd have to wait until tomorrow, though. Fatigue was already coming over me, and I needed to get myself to bed.


	2. First Blood

After checking if the shutters were closed – why I still hadn't nailed them shut, I couldn't rightly say – I lay down on the bed and closed my eyes.

I never asked other Vampires if they dreamed, so I don't know if it was simply me, but all my daily torpors were dreamless. Dreams were one of the things I really missed since my death. Even in life, just sleeping and dreaming got you away from all the daily misery. The murders, the robberies, the newspaper headlines, they all ceased to exist when you dreamed, travelling in wonderful worlds, a brief respite from the cruelty of the real world, and even if you woke up feeling sad that it was all just a dream, it still gave you enough energy to face another day of grayness and violence and lost faith in the world.

Since I died, there were no dreams, not even the feeling of being asleep. I simply closed my eyes and opened them again as the day ended, a beautiful day full of sun and colour that I'd never ever be able to see again. Streets filled with people on their way to work, or the shops, or wherever it was they were going, hot dog vendors shouting, terraces where people drank their morning coffee and read their morning paper, schools filled with whooping and shouting children, all gone for me.

Even though I no longer breathed, I still sighed at times.

I showered, got into my panties and my big loose white T-shirt, towelled and brushed my hair and went to the living room, hoping I was still in time for the news. Summer meant the nights were short, and I usually didn't make it in time to be able to watch, and I didn't this time either. At least I'd gotten a subscription to the paper. I opened the door to go get it, but when I did so, the paper was the last thing on my mind.

Stuck into the door with an intricately decorated and old-looking dagger was an envelope. Shit, that didn't foretell much good. I stood in the hallway for a while, staring at the dagger and envelope.

"You shouldn't stand in the hallway dressed like this, miss Del Rey," the voice of old Mr. Irving startled me as I was distracted by the strange delivery. Old Irving always knew exactly when I was in the hallway, as if he was waiting by the door, listening for the sound of mine. He was just a lonely old man, really, eager for company in a harmless but still slightly bothersome way.

"Mm? What?"

"Dressed like that. There's all kinds of creeps about."

Oh, you better believe I fucking know that. But being what I was now, they wouldn't find me such an easy target. Of course, I couldn't tell the nosy neighbour that, so I just stuck to, "I'm sure nobody's prowling the fourth floor hallway for female prey."

Pedantically, he said, "Doesn't matter. You should be careful anyway."

I indulged him. "Alright, I'll keep it in mind."

Out of the blue, he said, "A nice man would help. I see you always alone, always with your mind far away. I worry about you, miss Del Rey."

Taken by surprise, I blinked and said, "Uh, I'm fine, no need to worry."

"You're young, miss. You shouldn't stay cooped up in your apartment all day long."

His concern was touching, if a little presumptuous, but I didn't feel like continuing the conversation. "I'll be alright, mister Irving. I work night shifts, remember?" I told him. "Anyway, I need to go get ready. Have a nice evening."

Before he went back inside his apartment, he remarked, "Young women shouldn't be working night shifts either. It's unhealthy and lonely."

The night was the _only_ healthy time for me. Ah well, I supposed the man meant well. But now I had this dagger-and-envelope combo to take a look at. I'd received death threats before, even back when I was still alive (some criminals are real crybabies about getting locked up), and they'd never impressed me before, but this one was different. I'd only gotten one death threat actually stuck onto my door, and even then it'd been done with a piece of ordinary sticky tape and with a shit-load of spelling errors on a piece of torn-off notebook paper. The guy had actually apologized for his stupidity at the trial.

But this one was different. The dagger looked expensive, and they'd actually used an envelope. I dislodged the dagger from the door and took the weapon and the envelope inside. Sitting down at my dinner table (which, of course, went completely unused for its original purpose), I used the dagger to slice the envelope open and took out the letter inside, but as I pulled it out, I felt something resist. Without thinking, I pulled harder and tore the letter free.

In a flash, the envelope whooshed into ash, burned by a white flame while I held it in my hands. Fire, right after the sun, is a Vampire's worst enemy, and even the sight of it could send the most composed Vampire straight into a wild panic. It did the same to me, making me startle so hard I fell backward, chair and all, as searing pain blasted from my fingertips into my arms. I scampered to my feet and looked at my hands. The phosphorous flash had reduced the tops of the fingers in my left hand to ash, and my right hand had its index and middle finger completely burned away. "Mierda de perro!" I cursed when I saw the damage, my fingers ending in blackened stumps. It was not that much effort to heal it, even a wound caused by fire was not catastrophic if it was just the ends of an extremity, but it hurt like the Hells. I set my teeth and burned some of the blood in me to heal my fingers, the pain gradually turning into an itch as they reformed, first as semi-solid red blobs of blood, then hardening into skin and bone again.

The letter itself hadn't burned, and it probably hadn't intended to. With my new, still-sore fingers I picked it up from the ground it had lazily flitted to, considerably more slowly than I had.

"I know who you are and what you are, and where you live. I don't have time to deal with you, but get off my back or I will make time."

It wasn't signed, but it didn't have to be. The handwriting was elegant, and the Society of Leopold logo embossed in light blue on the stationary didn't leave any doubt. I'd hoped to be able to investigate and go at her unnoticed, but it seemed she'd gotten wise to me somehow, and the game of cat and mouse I'd hoped for had become a mutual hunt it would seem. Because I wasn't backing off. I couldn't. It wasn't an honour thing (though that played a part, to be sure), but I was ordered by my Master to help Velvet the 'dancer', and the blood bond would make sure I obeyed.

But there was no way I'd go after a Hunter on my own. Well, go after her alone, fine, but this would promise to be an extended little game, and a Hunter had one immense advantage over a Vampire: once they knew where our Haven was, all they had to do was break in during the day. I'd need, at the _very_ least, someone to guard this place in the daytime. I didn't have a ghoul yet, but my Master would have someone to spare. I didn't call for help often, so when I did, he usually granted my requests.

"Something you need, Tanira?"

"Master, sorry to disturb you."

"That's quite alright. Did you see VV yet?"

Heh, her friends called her VV. It seemed this was a favour from one friend to another rather than a political move. Of course, one didn't preclude the other.

"Yes, I did. She's got a Hunter problem."

"M-hm, I thought as much. Best deal with this subtly, then."

Now for the embarrassing admission. "It's... a bit too late for that. Got a threat from her this evening, telling me to back off or she'd come for me too."

A chuckle at the other end of the line. "Yes, they do so love to threaten. Still, you can handle this, I presume?"

"Yes, yes, of course," I assured, even though I wasn't all that certain. "But I'm worried about the daytime. I don't have anyone to protect me while I sleep."

"Ah yes. I keep expecting you to ask me if you can get a ghoul or two, but you never seem to."

"It... slips my mind every time."

"Well, too late for that now." There was a short silence. "LJ's close to you and available, I'll make sure he gets to you. He looks a bit funny, but he's good people."

"Thank you master."

"Please. You know how valuable you are to me. It's the least I can do."

I assumed by 'valuable' he meant 'useful'. In his position he couldn't permit himself to value others on any other scale than that of usefulness. "I'm just being loyal, Master."

"And I'm glad to have your loyalty, Tanira. I'm sure you'll be able to deal with this. Be safe, and call me if there's anything you need."

"I will, thank you."

There was a click and a busy tone. My Master was never one for saying goodbye on the telephone.

I didn't know whoever the fuck LJ was, but if my Master assured me he was 'good people', then I believed him. He probably wouldn't be here right away though, and with a Hunter out to get me, I figured it might be best not to sit around and wait.

I took a cab to Hollywood again, this time to the Asp Hole, where I'd find another possible target for our tramp-stamped Huntress. As I got in, with a driver I didn't know, I was reminded of the incident the night before, with the female driver rear-ending the cab I'd come in. Shit, of course! I hadn't gotten a decent look at the woman, but I was willing to bet the farm that it had been her. I could just see it in front of me. _Bang_, 'oh my God I'm sorry!' blah, blah, exchange insurance info, and then, 'Hey, that woman you were driving, she looked like a friend of mine. You've driven her before? She live here? What's her name? Ah, no, sorry, then it wasn't her. Bye!'.

Fuck! I should have been less nonchalant about the suspiciously coincidental collision, but dammit, hindsight is always 20/20 isn't it? The situation was as it was now, and nothing I could do.

"Asp Hole, miss."

The club in question was right on Hollywood Boulevard, which was actually quite lucky, since it meant I'd get plenty of opportunities to replenish the blood I'd lost from healing my fingers. Combined with the blood it takes to Awaken every night, healing had drained quite a lot, and I felt more than a bit hungry. After all, I'd only taken a small bit from Misty. Blood dolls were only good for taking small amounts, or they'd eventually die from the repeated blood loss.

The Asp Hole was, like Vesuvius, an expensive-looking up-scale club, though this one was of the traditional dance-and-get-drunk-and-hope-you'll-get-laid variety. Weird-ass music pumped through the speakers, and people danced in the most absurd ways. The music itself was just a lot of tuneless low buzzing and blaring without any melody or rhythm. It sounded like a vacuum cleaner with a cold and high on speed. The DJ wore a T-shirt saying Strillex or Strillax or whatever the fuck it was. It was one of the most awful things I'd ever heard. Anyone who appreciated this kind of 'music' was obviously a trend-hopping shitbird.

"What'll it be, miss?" the bartender asked, leaning over so he could hear me over the god-awful music.

"I need to speak to the owner, actually," I shouted over the music.

"Ash?"

"Uh, yeah, I think so."

"He's upstairs, I think," the bartender hollered, pointing his thumb at the balcony.

"Thanks."

It wasn't all that hard to figure out which of the people on the balcony Ash was, given that all of them except one were female, swarming over the only man sitting at the table. Apparently the guy was a celebrity of some sort. I'd never really understood the fascination with celebrities. Their shit smells just as bad as anyone else's. Well, if they aren't dead.

As I came up, the groupies all looked at me, all with their eyes full of barely concealed back-off-bitch hostility. The only one whose eyes had an entirely different look, was the man, Ash, the owner of the club. His eyes had a mixture of uncertainty and recognition. Velvet must have told him I'd come. I saw his eyes move and he motioned the other girls to go away. The barely concealed looks of hostility now turned into open hatred. Stupid putas.

Ash motioned for me to sit down at his table. The music wasn't so hard on the balcony, so we'd at least be able to have a conversation. "You're the help the Archon sent, are you?" He sounded less than enthusiastic, his voice a low and disinterested mutter.

"Uh, yeah. I was hoping you could tell me a little more about this Chastity character?"

His fingers absently played with the untouched glass of whisky-cola on the table. "Not much to tell. VV thinks she's a Hunter and she's probably right." He kept staring at the glass sullenly.

"Something wrong?"

He gave a humourless laugh. "Everything's wrong. Having to spend my nights acting like a fake celebrity in my club is wrong. Having to wake up every evening hating myself and what I've become is wrong. Having to fake in front of the humans that I'm happy and funny is wrong."

Ugh, another of the ones that had let themselves go. Being dead was sad, and sadness was one of the few emotions we could still genuinely feel, but god dammit, sitting around like a wet mop, crying over your state and showing everyone how much of a whiner you were wasn't the way to deal with it. Keep your dejection and your bloody tears and your self-loathing for when you're alone, jackass. "This isn't the time for melancholy. What do you know of her?"

I seemed to get through somewhat, because he raised his head and focused on the matter at hand. He was handsome, magnetically so, and now that I got a better look of him, I knew where I'd seen the face before. This was Ash Rivers, the young movie star, swooned over by girls and emulated by men the world over, heralded as the new James Dean, and living up to that comparison to the very end, by crashing his new Porsche straight into a brick wall, or so the papers had reported. He'd 'miraculously survived' and had secluded himself from the world to recover, in the estate of his director, Isaac Abrams. The papers went to town on the story, launching the rumour of a homosexual sugar daddy relationship between mentor and pupil, but we Kindred knew better, especially when Rivers never returned to filmmaking. I knew he'd gone into the club business somewhere but I hadn't made the link yet, until now.

"The supposed Hunter?"

"You can scratch the 'supposed', she's definitely a Hunter," I informed him.

He nodded slowly. "Though so. I can't tell you much though. She's blonde and average-looking. Wanted to start as a waitress, but by coincidence I'd heard the story of an employee named Chastity who kept a gun in her locker from VV, so I sent her away. She came by a few times after that, asking around for me, but she never came to see me directly. Funny, because I was here every time she asked." He gave a sad chuckle. "Of course I was. Where else would I go."

Ugh, stick to the present matter, llorón. "That's all you know of her?"

"Yeah."

I got up, frustrated. This hadn't been any help at all. God damn waste of time. "Right, well, thanks I guess. Got someone to watch over you during the day?"

He shrugged, staring at his glass again. "Let her come get me if she wants to. I don't care."

"Suit yourself." God damn I was hungry and this wet blanket had only made it worse. Then again, this was a club, and clubs were places where people gathered to find someone to spend time alone with, so I was in the right place.

I descended again and took a seat at the bar, ordering a beer just so they wouldn't kick me out for not ordering anything.

"A _beer_?" the bartender asked. "Miss, this is a club, not a dive. Long drinks and cocktails only."

Ugh, second time in two nights I was silently accused of having no class. "Uh... give me a gin & tonic then."

With a nod, the bartender turned and began pouring. "Sure thing."

"I got it," a man shouted over the music.

"What?" the bartender shouted.

"Her drink," he gesticulated at me. "It's on me." Yep, hook, line and sinker. He looked handsome enough if a little too meticulously groomed. And his rather lame faux-hawk haircut definitely didn't do him credit. And he seemed a bit young to be hitting on me. I was Embraced when I was thirty (and I looked twenty-five, _of _course), but this guy was, what, eighteen? Looked a bit too young to be paying for my drinks, but hey, don't look a gift meal in the mouth.

Flashing my most seductive smile (gah, I hated the whole sleaziness that came with trying to score a meal the lover-not-fighter way), I said, thanks, and raised my glass to him. I set it back down on the counter, hoping he wouldn't ask why I didn't take a drink. Of course he did, hollering, "Not drinking?"

I'd heard him well enough, but I still pointed at my ear and shook my head. Pretending I couldn't hear him over the music had two advantages: he couldn't ask me why I didn't drink, and I had an excuse to take him to a more... private spot. He made an understanding face and inhaled to shout harder, but I stopped him and pointed to the toilets instead, giving him the sleaziest, slimiest wink I could. He leered at me and got off his bar stool. I was ravenous, so good thing this guy had come along. This was going to be too easy.

We crashed into the toilets, which were thankfully empty, and he shoved me against the wall and kissed me hard on the mouth, his lips and breath sickeningly warm. I let him, running my hands through his hair, even though the whole thing absolutely disgusted me. Then I whirled him around and pushed him with his butt against the sink, whispering the line in his ear, the line I always used, and which had become my personal 'gotcha': "I have to tell you something..."

It was only a matter of pulling my upper lip back and letting the fangs sink into his neck. God I was hungry! But just as my upper jaw snapped snap downwards and drew blood, my eyes fell on the mirror and on the platinum blonde haired woman standing behind me with a snarling face, a wooden stake held high. God dammit it was a fucking trap!

I shoved the bait with the back of his head into the mirror and his arms let go of my waist, so I could throw myself to the side. I crashed into one of the stall doors, but the stake missed me, the tip scratching my shoulder, nicking the leather of my jacket but not plunging through my heart and leaving me at their mercy.

The faux-hawk man howled in pain, clutching the back of his head as I lost my balance and cracked my own head on the tiles. Taking advantage that I was down, the blonde lifted her stake again. I lashed out with my foot, catching her in the belly, knocking the wind from her. She staggered back, but still tried to attack with the stake, but by then, my gun was out and aimed at her head. "Try it, puta," I growled from the ground.

Time stood still for a moment, and then the woman snarled, "You're not gonna shoot."

"Come at me with that stake again and you'll see."

She stood over me for a moment, her jaw working, deciding whether or not to risk it. "You'll get the cops on your c – "

"I'll try my chances with the cops," I insisted. "I'm not letting you take me."

Still struggling to decide, she kept clenching the stake, but when she realized I was serious – and I was, no way I was letting a Hunter stake me and carry me off to do fuck-knows-what to me when I was defenceless – she snarled, "Fuck!" and dropped the stake, grabbing her groggy companion by the collar and dragging him out of the toilet.

I wasn't going to let them run and come back another time, no god damn way, so I got to my feet and ran out of the toilet, in time to see them both bolt through the front doors. Pushing my way through the crowd (and earning several deliveries of the classic indignant "Hey!"), I went after them, shoving the double doors out of my way.

Faux hawk had gotten his wits back, and even though he bled from the back of his head, he managed a pretty impressive sprint. He was probably just a henchman, so I let him run off into the alleys, darting instead after the blonde who'd run in the other direction.

She'd crossed the Boulevard and made for the alleys on the other side of the street, hoping she could vanish in them. I would have easily caught her if I'd been able to use my vampiric Celerity, but the Masquerade had to be upheld, and anyone seeing me zipping after her faster than an arrow would certainly not attribute that to diligent training. So I ran at normal speed, well, normal _slowness_, chasing after her as she disappeared in the darkness of the alleys of Hollywood. I heard a crash in an alley to my right, and immediately took that direction, leaping over the bum whose shopping trolley filled with cans the Hunter had knocked over. I saw her climb up on a shoulder-high wall, and threw myself over it, after her. We both emerged from the alleys onto another broad street, though this one was nothing like Hollywood Boulevard. There I caught up with her, leaping at her and taking her down. We both crashed to the ground, tumbling over each other and raining ineffective blows onto each other. I burned the last of the blood I had in me to boost my strength with my vampiric Potence, but due to my almost empty blood reserves, it only succeeded in giving me a little bit of extra strength. I felt a hard punch whack me in the midriff, and another socking me in the ear, but I grabbed her by the collar, lifted her up and smacked her hard against the wall, breaking her resistance.

"This is the L.A.P.D.! Remain where you are and surrender yourselves to the arriving officers," a loudspeaker shouted above us, accompanied by the sound of a helicopter rotor, and we were instantly bathed in bright, pale blue light. A siren let out a brief whoop and a squad car stopped on the other side of the street, two cops leaping out of it and walking briskly towards us, their hands on their weapons.

The Hunter and I briefly locked eyes and I knew she was thinking the same thing. I let go of her and we both bolted in opposite directions, back into the alleyways where the helicopter light couldn't follow us. The cops didn't give chase. They wouldn't risk their lives chasing a suspect, each alone, over a street brawl. It had been an extreme coincidence that the helicopter had passed by right at the time we'd started scrapping. Dammit, god dammit, everything worked against me. Well, almost everything. The chopper set off after the platinum blonde bitch instead of me, so at least that was a little golpe de suerte.

When I was certain the cops weren't coming after me, I slowed to a walk and decided to do something about the ravenous hunger eating at me. The hungrier you were, the weaker, and conversely, the more powerful the Beast became.

But some barfly had been kind enough to head into the alleys for a midnight piss, not knowing he'd be losing bodily fluids from two parts of his body that night. I stood behind him, waited for him to zip up (I didn't want to be sprayed by a flopping human liquid waste hose during feeding) then grabbed his hair, the frustration and rage at missing my chance at the Hunter gripping me, and smacked his forehead hard against the wall, catching his limp body and setting my fangs into his neck. I left him in the alley with a bleeding head wound. Nothing too serious, he'd probably just think he'd fallen forward against the wall while peeing, but cracking the poor fool's head against the wall had taken at least some of the frustration out, and the joy of feeding, even if it wasn't too much, had done the rest.

I was done for the night though, time to head back home and see if that LJ caso had arrived yet. People using abbreviations for first names usually didn't make a good first impression with me.

The lobby was as it always was: cleaned meticulously in the morning, and then filled up with trash and litter during the day and night. One thing was different than normal, though. I'd always seen the lobby entirely empty, and now there was actually someone there. And I sure as Hell hoped it wasn't the guy my Master had sent.

I avoided eye contact and walked as casually as I could to the elevator, hoping I wouldn't hear the guy saying, _Yo, your name Del Rey?_

I pressed the elevator button and waited as the cracked display above it counted down from 6.

"Yo, your name Del Rey?"

_FUCCKKKK_

I tried to avoid my frustrated and disappointed slouch as much as I could, then turned around. "Yeah. That's me."

He smiled and tapped his chest with the two forefingers of both hands. "Name's LJ, girl." The last hope I had that this would be a mistake was crushed. "Heard you needed some muscle?"

"No," I said, irritated, "I need someone to watch my door during the day." I nudged my head at the elevator, motioning for him to get in, though I didn't really feel like sharing an elevator with the guy.

His enthusiasm was unabated as he got in the elevator. "Shit, I can do that too, man. You expectin' trouble?"

"No, I need someone to make sure people don't brush against the wet paint."

That put a damper on his rotten good cheer at least. "Hey, what's all the bile about?"

'I'm just not fun to be around."

"Shit. Might as well get along for the time I'll be here."

The elevator opened and I stepped out. "Do a good job and we'll get along." I slid the pass card over the reader and my door opened. "Wait here a second."

"Word."

I closed the door behind me and took my cell phone, speed dialling my Master's number. Come on, he couldn't be serious.

"Tanira. Did LJ arrive?"

"Yes, Master, he did, but – "

"Good. He can be a bit bothersome at times, but he can be trusted and he's competent."

"Master…"

There was a sigh at the other end of the line. He probably knew what was coming. "Yes?"

"Did you… did you _have_ to send me… well…"

"A black guy?"

"…_Yeah_."

"Tanira, LJ's one of my best. And he doesn't care about skin colour, even if you do. I don't want you to start complaining about past events. You need to deal with it and move on, and judge people based on their merits rather than their skin."

"Yes, but…"

He was gentle, but final. "No buts, Tanira. Consider this as an occasion to unlearn some prejudices. Give him a chance and he'll prove he's worth it. You wanted a day-watcher, I sent you one. I'm sure you'll both get along if you put your hang-ups aside for a moment."

I could say nothing else than, "… alright, I'll do my best. Sorry to bother you."

"No bother, I'm in the car anyway. By the way, this whole Hunter thing might be worth investigating more. Can you e-mail me a nightly report of events?"

"Absolutely, Master."

"Good. Glad I can count on you. Take care."

"I will."

Looked like I was stuck with the chimney sweep. God _dammit_. I opened the door again. "Come on in."

"Thanks, girl."

If this guy was going to be my day-watcher, might as well do a _bit_ of effort. "My name's Tanira. You can uh, call me that if you like."

"Sure. As you know, I'm LJ." LJ wasn't exactly subtle about his skin colour and subculture, wearing a way-too-large yellow-and-purple basketball shirt of the L.A. Lakers, white shiny pants with the crotch hanging around his knees, and a too-large Lakers cap. A thick tacky gold chain around his neck completed the picture. Fucker watched too much MTV.

"Yeah. As I know."

"Now what's all the hatin' about, girl? I'm here to help you out, remember?" He yawned, probably dead tired from getting up so early. The poor baby.

I stuck to a diplomatic, "You're… not what I expected."

Understanding dawned on him as he threw himself into one of my – well, still the Prince's for now – beige leather sofas. "Now this wouldn't be some kinda race thing, would it?"

"What if it was?" I sat down opposite him.

He chuckled. "Judgin' from yo' reaction, it probably is. Works both ways, though. I could hate on you for bein' a border-jumpin' Mexican."

Ha! Nice try. "You could, but my parents were Chilean. So you'd just be making a fool of yourself."

"Mexican, Chilean, same difference. Anyway, it's 'cause of my skin, right?" To my surprise, he spread his hands and said, "It's cool tho'. You're judgin' me, but I ain't judgin' you back. Cause I know how easy it is to get all prejudiced."

"Really."

"Yeah, man. You see that shit on the TV, media feedin' you bullshit stereotypes. It ain't your fault, it's the damn media, man. Settin' us up against each other. Human beings, man, that's what we are, and we're hatin' each other 'cause of superficial bullshit, because that what they tryin' to teach us."

"It's not just the media," I said flatly. Skin colour was one thing, but this guy clearly didn't belong to the law-abiding segment of the black community. He was dressed like _they_ had been, on that last night of my life. "You're justifying yourself with that PC ebony-and-ivory talk. But at the same time, you do all the effort you can to portray yourself as a badass gangster. I mean, look at you."

"What, these digs?" He seemed to find it funny. "Girl, they just mean I'm some black dude who likes b-ball."

"All 'black dudes who like b-ball' also like dealing drugs or shooting other 'dudes' or both," I retorted. I'd dealt with a lot of his kind in real life, and they were _never_ good news. The rare times you didn't find a gun on them, you found a knife.

He leaned forward, dead serious. "Girl, I'll have you know, I never touched anything more'n a few blunts, and I never shot anyone before I met _you_ guys." He sniffed, leaning backward. "Y'all put me on the path o' crime, so to speak."

I really didn't feel like continuing that discussion, and I certainly didn't intend to give him the satisfaction of refuting my claims with things he could easily make up. "Look, I didn't ask for a conversation partner, as long as you do a decent job watching this place while I sleep, we'll get along fine."

"Alright man," he said, letting it go too. "But girl, all that hate, that's no good for you. You gotta rise _above_, man." He stood up, "Where yo' fridge at? Can use a drink."

"Where most fridges are. In the kitchen."

"Cool." He walked to the kitchen, in that 'swaggering' way they all did. "Whatcha got in there? I know you types don't drink an' shit, but you got somethin' for guests, right?" With a chuckle, he added, "Don't worry, it don't gotta be no malt liquor."

Well, at least he could joke about it. "There's beer and coke, I think. Might be past the expiration date already."

"Like you, huh?" he joked, opening a can of cola with its familiar _psst-chack-_sound. He was lucky my mood wasn't _too_ foul and I was able to ignore the in-bad-taste joke.

I supposed I had to show him around, so he'd at least know the apartment he'd be guarding. "Alright, so you've seen the living room and the kitchen. Bathroom's upstairs on the mezzanine."

He laughed. "The _mezzanine_? Damn, girl, just say 'balcony'."

"It's not a balcony," I said back, only realizing I sounded horribly prissy afterward, "It's a mezzanine."

With another laugh, he said, "Aight man, mezzanine, suit yourself."

"Right. Also there is my office. Well, it's just a chair and a computer." It looked out over the main apartment floor, which was pleasant for working and allowed me to watch some TV while I typed. "My bedroom's there, too."

He chuckled and with a leer, said, "I bet ain't much that happens in there anymore, word?"

Anger flared up in me, both at the joke itself and the casual tone in which he said it. To him, me no longer being alive or ever knowing things like the joy of sex again was nothing but a joke, something we could both sit back and laugh at. I felt my teeth start to clench, but I fought the anger, keeping it suppressed. "If you want to live past tonight, don't joke about my state again."

"Whoa, whoa," he immediately said. "Shit, that was my bad. Was just tryin' to lighten the mood, you know?"

"That's not the way to do it."

"Shit, you're damn right. Sorry, girl, I shoulda known that'd make you feel bad."

"Yeah."

Uncomfortably, he took a drink of his coke. "So, what kinda trouble you expectin'?"

"Some pesky human's got it in for me."

He made a one-sided shrug. "So? Just tear that punk-ass a new shitter, man."

"It's not that simple. These aren't the Middle Ages," I explained, annoyed. "You can't just lop someone's head off and blame it on the fucking Vikings or something."

"Aight, I 'preciate that," he said, looking around the apartment. "An' ain't none of my b'iness, really." He lifted his ridiculous Lakers shirt to show the .45 in his belt. "But whatever bitch comes through that door to mess wit' you gets a cap in his ass."

"It'll probably be 'her' ass. And tucking a pistol in your belt is asking to get a few inches of your own dick shot off."

"I got plenty to spare, girl."

"Ugh, should have seen that one coming." Black guys and their dick size boasts all the time. "Anyway, I'm starting to feel dawn coming, so I'm going to lie down." I pointed at the door to my bedroom. "You don't come in there under _any_ circumstance. Is that clear?"

"Crystal, girl."

"I mean it. You come in there and I'll tear your head off." I meant it alright.

It all seemed to amuse him. "Don't worry, girl. You ain't that good-lookin'." Even in my urgency to explain to him that he wasn't to enter my damn room no matter what, I still hoped he was saying that just to get a rise out of me.

"Hey, yo, can I use your computer? Checkin' my emails an' shit?"

"Uh… yeah, sure. Just no porn."

"Shee-it. Count on you to take the fun outta computers."

"I'm a total aguafiestas. Plus, LaCroix pays for the Internet, and who knows what kind of stuff he keeps tabs on. But hey," I figured I owed the guy some encouragement, even though he was a massive dickhead. "I mean it about doing a good job. I'll really appreciate it if you do. I'm just not good at trusting people, and especially…"

"… Basketball fans?"

To put it diplomatically, yes. "Yeah. Basketball fans."

He seemed dead serious when he said, "Hey look, the Man told me you might be, y'know, kinda bitchy when you saw me. Cuz of your past an' all. And I got respect for what happened to you, whatever it was. But I ain't those people who did whatever-the-fuck to you. Gimme a straight chance and I'll show you I'm good for it."

It was difficult to say, but I managed it nonetheless. "I'll try, and don't take this personally, okay? Some things are just… hard to get over."

"I get ya, girl. I'll keep you safe today." He tapped his heart with his fist. "You just go rest. Don't think of me as a black guy, think of me as LJ, aight? Rise above."

"Yeah." It'd be hard to feel safe with _him_ in the apartment, but my Master had said I'd have to make do, so there was no changing things, I supposed. Another wave of fatigue washed over me. "I need to sleep now. No funny business around here, alright?"

He looked completely sincere when he said, "Girl, Imma respect yo' crib an' guard this place with my life. Ain't no one comin' in here without goin' through me."

"Good."

"You go an' rest now."

My eyes were practically falling closed when I trudged to my bed, and not even bothering to undress, I threw myself down on it, and disappeared off the world for another day.


	3. Traces of the Past

I opened my eyes and looked at my alarm clock. Evening already, which meant I'd slept without incident. Still in my previous clothes, I sat up on the bed. Might be best to skip the shower today, with some strange guy around. It's not like my clothes were sweaty. How could they be. I clicked my holster into my belt and took the gun from my night stand, sliding it in the holster.

"Yo girl, sleep well?" LJ greeted me from behind my computer.

"I slept," I responded. Wasn't much to say. You didn't sleep well or badly or anything. You just stopped being conscious and became it again the next evening. "Nothing happened here?"

"Notta thing." He was absorbed in whatever he was doing on the computer. An empty, grease-stained pizza box lay on the coffee table, two drained cans of coke next to it. 'Ain't no one comin' in here' clearly didn't count when it was the pizza delivery guy. Ah well. I supposed the guy didn't have to starve.

"Alright, thanks for lookin' out. Tomorrow morning, same time?"

"Fo sho. Just lemme finish this up."

"Take your time. And write down your number somewhere, in case I need you."

He grinned, still watching the screen. "Awready done. Coffee table."

The guy had, indeed, already written down his phone number. On a Domino's Pizza napkin. Stay classy.

I waited for another minute or two, until he was done with his game, then let him out. He didn't have the key card to my apartment, and as long as he didn't absolutely need it, there was no need to give him the spare either.

A cab was waiting across the street, conveniently enough, and I walked straight for it, intent on going back to the Asp Hole and learning more about the faux hawk guy, since the bartender had acknowledged him in a way that made me suspect he might be a regular, or at least known at the place. It might be a tenuous lead (for all I knew Chastity or whatever her real name was had simply paid him to come onto me and lure me into the toilets), but it was all I had, really. And it was no longer a case of biding my time. I needed to act, because she's already moved on me, and dropping the search was no longer an option, not that it ever had been.

I'd crossed half the street already, but then there was the sound of shrieking brakes, and bright headlights blinding me. The next thing I knew, an enormous force struck me, first impacting my knees, breaking them both with indescribable pain, and then my torso was smashed into the same huge and heavy object, breaking my ribcage and shredding the now useless organs inside me, catapulting me first up, then sideways, so I landed hard on the asphalt, on the passenger side of the car that had hit me.

Every bone in my body was broken, and pain pounded through my entire self, so hard I didn't feel it anymore. Reflexively, I burned as much blood as I could to set the bones again. They straightened and mended themselves with excruciatingly painful cracks and snaps, and a high-pitched yelp of pain escaped me.

"Oh my God oh my God oh my God I killed someone I killed someone!"

Burning the last I had in me, I made the cracks in my skull and jaw snap closed, restoring my body to working order, though the pain was simply brutal.

"Calm down, god dammit, let me go, we gotta go see, it might not be too late."

"Oh my God oh my God oh my God!"

"Hey! Snap out of it."

There was the sound of skin slapping against skin, and the whimpering of the female voice was cut short. More composed, the female said, "You're… you're right… Oh God."

"Come on, we gotta go check."

The owners of both voices came around the car, where I was trying to get to my feet, still in horrible pain, but at least I wasn't a sack of broken bones and shredded organs anymore.

"Holy shit, don't move, miss," the male voice said, exasperated. There was the sound of a phone clapping open. "I'm calling 911. Stay still."

"Oh thank God, I thought you were dead for sure," the woman panted.

"No ambulance," I managed to groan through my pain, supporting myself on the wheel house and trying to stand up. "Please. No ambulance."

"What?" the man shouted incredulously, "Why?"

I used the line I'd prepared for such an event. "No health insurance. I'm okay."

"But – "

"No ambulance, man," the woman shouted, still panicked, seizing the opportunity to keep human law enforcement out of it and avoid trouble. "She said so herself."

The voice sounded vaguely familiar, but my back was still turned. Turning around proved insanely painful.

"Shit, you sure, miss?"

"Yeah, I'm... sure," I croaked. "I'll be alright."

"Oh thank God you're okay," the woman breathed in relief. "I hit you so hard I thought you'd be stone dead. You must be some kind of supernatural to survive that."

Supernatural? Shit! Of course. It wasn't the first time she'd used a car as a weapon. Biting the terrible pain in my torso and crushed knees, I swerved around and found myself face to face with the Hunter.

"Oh my God! Oh my _God_ it's you!"

Wait, not the Hunter. This was… holy shit! "Sammie?"

"Whoa," the taxi driver asked. "You know each other?"

The woman stood before me, her mouth moving but no words coming out. It was her alright, the light brown hair in ringlets, the narrow nose and the dark brown eyes, still with that same dark blue eye shadow, still wearing that black turtleneck and the belted-in-the-waist black latex jacket, tight jeans and heeled boots. Samantha Cavelli. Probably a nice enough person in itself, but loathed by the entire department, not just for abbreviating everyone's name into a cutesy diminutive (including her own and insisting to be addressed by it), but mostly for trying to get inside officers' heads and declare them unfit for duty on psychological grounds. The stereotype of the hated police psiquiatra was a tenacious one in crime films and series, and in this case, it was entirely justified. When she wasn't trying to make you say things that could be misinterpreted and lead to 'time off', she was putting on a caring big sister act, her favourite phrase being, "my door's always open to you, and to all your problems."

Fucking shit. I'd always been successful in avoiding people from my past – L.A. was a huge city and easy to disappear in – but fuck, who could have possibly foreseen _this_? Getting hit by a car, and against a million-to-one odds, the driver being that police psychiatrist you hated so much.

"They told… they told me you were dead," Sammie gasped. "And don't tell me you're not Tannie, 'cause you _recognized_ me!"

Shit, there went that plan. "Sammie, look, I can't explain right now, I'm – "

"Dead," Samantha interrupted. "Dead, you and Caffery. Three years ago." Then her face betrayed a realization. "His coffin was open, yours was closed. Oh my God!"

They'd never recovered my body, of course, but I'd been given a state burial. Killed in the line of duty. Like Jon Caffery, only his death had been real. Poor Caf. I still thought of him sometimes, on his back, his eyes open, a bloody hole in his thigh and in his torso. What had happened couldn't have been stopped, even though I often blamed myself for not preventing it.

"Hey um, I'm gonna let you two ladies deal with this on your own," the cabbie said, not understanding and backing away. Neither of us had actually heard him.

"Look, Sammie, you can't tell anyone ab –"

"I want an explanation right now," Samantha protested. "Whatever it is, I can help, okay?"

I'd forgotten her other trademark phrase. 'I can help, okay?'. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw several people had already stopped to gawk. Dammit, I needed to cut this short. And knowing Samantha she wouldn't stop hounding me until I agreed to let her 'help' me. "Sammie, let's not talk about this here. I live here. Come on, let's... just go to my place, okay?" The look in her eyes briefly shifted to triumph.

I'd mostly recovered, but I let her support me as we made our way back across the street, just so it wouldn't be _too_ obvious that I could regenerate just about everything the car had broken, torn or squashed.

The elevator ride was silent and horribly uncomfortable, Samantha's judging, punitive gaze on me, those eyes completely destroying whatever credibility she thought she had when she became all caring and let-me-help-you.

"Sit down," I said, dropping myself in one of the sofas. God dammit that car had done a number on me. And, well, I'd done the same to the old Ford Taunus TC1 XL she so loved. I'd briefly looked back and seen the front all bent and leaking various liquids, and the windshield so badly smashed and criss-crossed with white cracks it had become completely opaque. "Sorry 'bout your car."

"Never mind the car," she said, flapping her hand. Her face betrayed an entirely different sentiment. She'd loved that car, and the time some dickbag had keyed it in the parking lot had been the only time I'd ever seen her lose her temper, shouting in the station hallways that she'd find the person responsible and, in her own words, 'do bloody murder on him'. It hadn't been any of us, of course, so the threat had been pretty useless, but it had been good to see composed, snooty Samantha get all dramatic and furious. "So, Tanira, what's going on?"

"You've got to promise me not to tell anyone, okay?" I said, stalling for time while I thought of an explanation, but dammit, nothing came to mind.

"I won't tell anyone what's wrong with you, whatever it is, but I can't keep it a secret that you're still alive." Figured she wouldn't be able to keep her mouth shut. "It's just... people deserve to know you're not dead."

"Promise me, or I don't tell you anything and you're left with a story that no one will believe."

"What went wrong, Tannie?" Samantha asked, her concerned side taking the upper hand again. Gravely, she asked, "Is it… is it drugs?" Then she nodded, assured of it. "Yeah, it must have been. You… you can't just get up after being hit by a car unless you're full of drugs. I can help you, okay?"

"Sammie – "

She took out her cellphone and began scrolling through her contact list. "I'll call a colleague of mine, he works with drug addicts and he can help you out, there's no need to be ashamed, okay? We've all had times wh – "

"Put the phone down." I ordered her. "Right now, Samantha."

"Tannie, this guy works miracles, he can – "

"Put the fucking phone down or I'm taking it from your dead fingers!" I growled at her. If she finished dialling that number, and managed to tell anyone I was still alive, I would be in so much trouble even my Master would have to contain himself not to rip me in two. "I _mean_ it, Samantha!"

Her phone still in her hand, Samantha's jaw fell. She looked genuinely flat-footed. "Tannie, I..."

"Stop calling me by that retarded name and put the phone away."

But she didn't, getting up and stammering, "Okay... this is... um, clearly the drugs talking. I'll go home and come back when you're um... feeling better."

"Sit down."

"No, Tanira, I'm going to – "

"Sit the _fuck _down, bitch."

Looking briefly wounded at my language, she quickly composed herself and decided to look brave. "I will not sit down. I'm going home, and we can talk tomorrow. And that's final." Then she turned her back on me, her nose in the air.

I don't know if it was her turning her back, or simply refusing to listen to me that did it. Maybe it was both. Combined with my hunger, it set me off. Something snapped inside me and I launched myself over the coffee table, taking Sammie down. She didn't even struggle, just protected her head with her hands, whining inarticulately. Frenzy had taken control of me now, and with one hand, I lifted her into the air by the collar of her stupid latex jacket, and hearing myself roar, I swung her body over my head in a wide arc and made her come down head-first on the coffee table, shattering the glass and sending her face through it, smack into the ground. All I could do was see it happen.

I lifted her up again, her lacerated face streaming with blood. "Tannie..." she begged quietly during the brief moment she hung still in my grasp. "Please..."

But through a haze of red, I saw my hand shift to her lower jaw, and my other hand clamp over her upper teeth, the fingers going into her mouth. Then the Beast roared again inside me, and I pulled, tearing her mouth open as she kicked and shrieked in my grasp, still pulling until first the sides of her mouth, and then her entire cheeks split with a wet tearing sound. She was gurgling now, her kicks growing feeble, her hands clawing at mine, hooked around her face in an iron grip. With another howl of the Beast inside me, I pulled further until her spine crunched and her skull was torn all the way back, so the top half of her head hung upside down from her back, only the lower jaw remaining in place. Abruptly, entire body stopped moving, the legs and arms falling limp.

As suddenly as it had appeared, the red haze of frenzy vanished again and my hands opened, letting Sammie's body crumple to the ground.

Oh shit.

Oh God dammit what had I done.

Sammie lay on the ground between the shattered glass and broken wood of the coffee table, her legs at awkward angles and her neck folded over backwards, her mouth torn open in a terrible face-splitting grin.

The Beast was quiet, but I knew it laughed.

Shit, shit, shit.

They'd seen her come inside with me. She was a police psychiatrist so you better believe she'd be missed, and people would come looking for her. I could ditch the body, sure, but if cops came to search the place, no way they wouldn't find the blood soaked into the carpet. And what to say of the destroyed coffee table?

Or of the occupant of the apartment being an ex-colleague who should have been fucking dead?

God dammit God dammit God _dammit_! I killed her _in my own apartment_ of all places! The _one_ place I'd always known I had to keep clean. Fucking shit! What to fucking do now? God dammit!

LJ! The guy couldn't be far already. I took out my phone, searched for the napkin between the shards of glass, splinters of wood, and bloody clumps of hair, and dialled the number written on it.

"Yo, girl. You lonely?"

"LJ, turn your car around and come back here, hurry."

"Whoa, whoa, what'd I do?"

"Just get back here _right now_." I didn't await a response, just clapped the phone closed.

I pulled Sammie's body to the bathroom, the heels of her boots dragging over the floor, and stuffed her in the tub for the time being. Her head dangled down her back like a marionette's. Damn it Sammie, why didn't you just leave it alone? You should have just fucking kept driving after hitting me.

After stuffing her clothes in a trash bag, I rifled through her bag to find her car keys and cell phone. Right. The car had to be moved to wherever-the-fuck, and the cell phone might be useful. Delay people searching for her. I scrolled through her contact list and found "Mom". Who was no longer a mother.

HEY MOM I'M GOING TO STAY WITH A FRIEND GOT SOME STRESS TAKING A FEW DAYS OFF CALL WORK FOR ME OK? LOVE SAMMIE

I knew she always typed her bullshit texts in all caps and ended them with 'love Sammie', so hopefully they'd be enough to fool her mother. Buy me a small bit of time.

The intercom beeped.

"LJ?"

"Yo girl, what up?"

"Get up here."

I let him in after he rapped on the door and I stuck the trash bag in his face, along with the car keys. "Take this bag downstairs, use that car key on the Taunus across the street. Ditch the car somewhere and stuff the bag in the trunk. Make sure they're not fucking found."

"Awh, _shit_!" LJ exclaimed when he took the bag, wrinkling his nose. "The fuck is this, man? Something you fished outta your septic tank or sumthin'?"

"Don't ask questions," I ordered him. "Just take the damn bag, stuff it in the trunk, and get rid of the car."

Still grimacing from the smell of the clothes, he asked, "Hey yo, where am I s'posed to dump a car around here, girl?"

"Wherever, God dammit! Drive it off the damn Santa Monica pier for all I care," I snapped, feeling the panic intensifying, but determined not to show it. "Just make sure it's _gone._"

"Shee-it," he cursed, still holding the bag away from him, eyeing it suspiciously. "Yo' boss better be payin' me damn good for all this boolsheet."

"_I'll_ pay you extra if that's what it takes, now get going." I was calm outwardly, but m mind was working furiously while trying to keep the panic at bay.

He nodded. "Got a homie, works at the Brothers Salvage, he can turn that shitty Ford into a fuckin' sugar cube."

"Good. Now _go_."

If the car was gone, and the clothes, that was one thing already. But those weren't the most important. The dead woman in my bath tub was. And there was no way I could get rid of a dead body, all the DNA on it, and the blood and other mess in the living room. Shit, there was nothing else I could do but take my cell phone again. Three calls in three nights. An embarrassing hat trick.

"Yes, Tanira? Any progress?"

"Uh, not… not really."

"You sound nervous, is everything alright?"

As rotten as it was, there was no point denying or sugar-coating it. "Master, I… I kinda screwed up big time."

"You didn't kill LJ, did you?" he asked, sounding somewhat amused.

"No, no… but I killed someone else. In my apartment."

"Then you of all people should know better than to call me using your own cell." No trace of amusement this time.

Shit, yeah. Another rule broken. Don't kill anyone in your Haven. Always use a burn phone when calling someone after you've killed someone in your Haven.

"I'm… sorry, Master." I hated saying I was sorry, but right that moment, I felt like a grotesque fracasada.

He ignored the apology. "I assume you need clean-up?"

"Uh… yes, Master, I do."

"I'll send someone. Stay there until they arrive." There was a beep, and a busy tone. No 'take care' or 'be safe', as he always said before hanging up. Yeah, he was pissed alright. God dammit.

I spent the rest of the night cleaning up the destroyed coffee table and getting the pieces into a trash bag as well as I could, and scrubbing the carpets on my knees. I rinsed off Samantha's body with the showerhead, so the clean-up guy would at least have a semi-clean body to strategically dismember. I simply shut off my brain while I did it. Should have left it alone, Samantha.

It was a quarter to two already when the intercom buzzed. Gingerly, I pressed the button, part of me thinking it would be the cops coming to arrest me. But that was being paranoid, they couldn't possibly know she was dead in my bath tub at two in the morning.

"Yeah?"

"Good evening," a cheerful male voice called through the intercom. "Nighttime cleaning service. You spilled some coffee on your carpet?"

Yeah, coffee, exactly. "Come on up."

There were two of them. One was male, wearing grey overalls and carrying a large sports bag. He had a cheerful grin from ear to ear, a wild dark blond haircut and his skin had the fleshy colour of a living person's. Probably a ghoul. He immediately saw the blood stains, that I'd only managed to wash out to a pink smear. "Ooh, yeah. Nothing gets coffee out, unless you're a pro. Where's the pot?"

"Mm?"

"The coffee pot."

I was so confused I didn't follow his little allegory. "The what?"

Then he rolled his eyes. "The body, slowbrain."

"Oh! Uh… bathroom."

"Bath tub?" The man's eyes lit up and his grin widened. "Classic! Can't beat the charm of a dead body crammed in a bath tub. It's the classic place to stow it in, and also the most dramatic. I tell you, seeing a dead guy stuffed in a bath tub never gets old."

"I'm… glad you're so upbeat about it?" His good cheer was putting me somewhat at ease. I hoped it stemmed from confidence in his ability to make dead bodies disappear.

"It's a dirty job, but someone's gotta have fun doing it." Then he pointed to the bathroom. "Be back in a bit." On the way there, he shamelessly opened the fridge and took out a beer.

The female sat down in my sofa, every movement coldly graceful, calculated and sensuous. She had jet-black hair going straight down, then wreathing her shoulders in coal black curls, contrasting with the pallor of her skin, which was even more white than most vampires'. Thin black eyebrows stood above big, ice blue eyes, set in a narrow face, one possessing a cold, deathly beauty. She wasn't wearing overalls, but a black velvet gothic type dress with gold trim, and a blue-trimmed corset around her waist, making her look even more slender than she already was. Her breasts were so small they were almost nonexistent, and she looked to have been Embraced around her sixteenth, but I felt great power emanate from her, a feeling reinforced by the slight confident curl of one corner of her mouth. She was at least an Elder, and definitely much more powerful than the mere Ancilla I was. "Forgive Dmitri," she said in a voice which was rather nasal, but not at all unpleasant. "In his enthusiasm, he doesn't always keep the gravity of the situation in mind."

"It's… alright," I could only say. If he got rid of Sammie's remains without a trace, then he could be as obnoxious as he wanted. The other woman said nothing, merely looking at me with her big blue amused eyes, her arms spread over the back of the sofa. "Uh, so, um, thanks for the help?"

"That's entirely our pleasure."

"I'd… offer you something but I'm starving myself."

She giggled slightly. "At least you didn't stoop to sucking the blood out of the carpet."

From the bathroom came the sound of a portable electric saw being turned on. I simply assured myself that Sammie didn't feel a thing anymore. "So uh, you and Dmitri been doing this long?"

"Depends what you mean by 'long'."

"I'm Tanira, by the way."

"Pleasure." It sounded sincere enough, but she didn't give her own name. Her eyes stayed the same, carrying that mixture of intrigued and amused.

"So, Dmitri gets rid of the body, and what do you do?"' I asked it more to make conversation than anything else.

"Normally I just send Dmitri or one of his colleagues, but your Master insisted I see to this personally. I'm hideously expensive, but my powers are worth every cent."

"That… doesn't answer my question."

She smiled a thin smile. "People like Dmitri remove bodies, I remove something much more subtle." Without explanation, she rose, extended her hands and closed her eyes. Several seconds passed, there was a very faint, almost unnoticeable change in the atmosphere, and then she opened her eyes again and sat down. "My apologies if you were expecting something spectacular."

"So… what was it you did?"

An amused eyebrow became slightly raised. "When a person dies, especially in the case of a violent death, a faint, barely perceptible energy remains. Humans don't realize they detect it, it is far too subtle, but some will subconsciously register it and feel that something is suspect, though they can't rightly say why." She swept her hair back. "What they usually describe as a 'gut feeling'."

I knew exactly what she meant. Back in my days as a narc, I'd had that feeling sometimes too. When everything rationally seems to be perfectly alright, but you _know_ there's something off, something wrong. A feeling that was impossible to explain, you just… felt it in your gut.

"There are more subtle energies like it, but I can only disperse those that remain after a person dies," she finished her explanation. "Clearing that energy away will make the police think this is just a normal apartment instead of getting their so-called 'gut feeling'." She said it was a hint of disgust, as if she was indignant at the fact that humans so carelessly labelled those precious energies as their own gut instinct.

I opened my mouth to ask another question, but I was interrupted by Dmitri. "Well, it's all chopped up, dissolved into sludge, and washed down the drain."

That was it for Sammie, then. Chopped up, dissolved into sludge, and washed down the drain. She'd been annoying as Hell, but the dismissive way he announced it made me feel a sharp, quick stab of regret at her fate regardless. "Thanks, I guess."

"Glad to help, and thanks for washing her down a bit in advance. Not sure why you went so overboard during the killing though," he continued, then to the goth girl, "Should've seen the way she looked. Head pulled open like an oyster. Interesting, definitely, but also a testament to poor impulse control on the customer's behalf."

"Yeah, alright," I stopped him. "That's enough."

"Dmitri was never the most subtle," the pale woman apologized. "As soon as he gets the vitae out of the carpet, we'll leave you be. Dawn will soon be on us."

Dmitri had a loud and annoying mouth, but he was a miracle worker when it came to scrubbing carpets. Or maybe he was only good when it involved blood. I don't know what he did, but in a quarter of an hour, the blood stains were out of the carpet. I'd cleaned the spatters on the walls easily enough, but the carpet, no way I could've cleaned that so fast and so thoroughly. "That's it, all done." At the same time, the intercom buzzed. I looked out to see LJ's Discovery parked across the street. As soon as these two were out the door and LJ had come up, I'd let myself go into torpor. This night couldn't end soon enough.

"Thank you, Dmitri," the pale girl said, and rose. "We'll settle the financial aspect with the Archon."

"Thanks," I could only say.

The girl smiled thinly. "I'm part of the Camarilla even when my clan is not, and among the many things we do, this is one of our ways of upholding the Masquerade. It's one of our… least glamorous tasks, but necessary nonetheless. Now, Dmitri, we shall depart."

"As you say, Lady Serena."


	4. Taken

"Tanira! Wake up!"

The voice came from far away, but it pulled me out of my torpor.

"Wake up, they're gonna – " There was the sound of a hard blow, and the voice was silenced. I heard the door to my room open. Someone was coming in. I couldn't open my eyes, weariness keeping them closed.

It was daytime, I could feel it, lethargy dulling my senses and mind, and making my muscles feeble. My gun was on my night stand, where it always was, and drifting between sleep and waking, I prepared to launch myself at my gun and draw a bead on whoever it was that had invaded my innermost sanctuary.

There was the sound of a click, and what sounded like rope being pulled taut. Gathering all my strength, I pushed myself off the bed, opened my eyes and rolled to my night stand. There was a _thwock_, and something whizzed past me. As I recall it, the next moment, I had my gun up and aimed at the interloper.

My vision was blurry and I was dizzy as all Hell, but I managed to keep my gun on her. All I could see as my head spun and my eyes struggled to stay open, was the vague shape of a platinum blonde haired woman wearing a trench coat. She was holding some kind of rifle or something I couldn't make out. With one hand, she pulled a lever on the weapon, then shifted her grip back to its trigger.

What I clearly saw though, was her other hand gripping the cord to pull the shutter open.

"Drop the gun."

I remember hesitating, being unable to think straight. I must have said something like "Fuck you!"

"If you shoot, either I pull these shutters open myself, or I'll do it when I fall. Feel like looking at a beautiful midday sun?"

Oh God no, not the sun, anything but the sun. I only remember vague bits and pieces about what happened, but I do recall that I forgot all about my gun and brought up my other hand in a useless protective gesture as sheer terror took hold of me. "No, please, no! Please, not the sun!"

Much as I tried to forget it afterward, I begged and whimpered, reduced to a pleading sack of fear and panic.

"Drop the gun then. Do it."

I could do nothing else than obey.

In my blurred vision, I saw her bare her teeth in a broad smile. "Thank you." Then she brought the weapon up and with a clack, released the trigger mechanism.


	5. Bonds

I awoke with a blast of pain as something tore through my chest, crushing my sternum and impaling the heart beneath. I was dead and no longer breathed, but my dead lungs reflexively sucked in air in a loud wheeze. My arms tried to clutch the wound, but like my ankles, they were held fast. I was still in my room, but strapped or manacled to a cold steel slab.

A woman with pale blonde hair stood over me, holding a bloody wooden spike. The pain hadn't been from a sharp object impaling me, but rather being pulled out.

"Sorry about staking you." She threw the wooden projectile to the ground. "I told you to get off my back, didn't I?" She didn't ask in a hostile tone, it was more like she wanted to ask me why I didn't just back off when I had the chance. I was still groggy from the impalement so I couldn't do more than groan inarticulately.

"It's alright," she said gently. "I understand. You did what you had to do. It's no more your fault than your curse is." She leaned closer. "I'm not interested in hurting or torturing you. All I want is the identity of the one who sent you."

Was she asking me to betray VV, or my Master?

"And I don't mean that snooty stripper from the Vesuvius," she said gently, making it clear.

But even if I'd wanted to betray my Master, I wouldn't even be able to. The Blood Bond made it impossible, and even then, I wasn't a snitch. I told her so. "I couldn't tell… you even if… I wanted to."

Her face became sad, but she still looked friendly enough. "I see. We're not on the same side, but I respect your loyalty." She sat down on my night stand and sighed. "This puts us in a difficult situation though."

Her situation wasn't nearly as difficult as mine: strapped to a steel slab wearing nothing but my underpants and sleeping T-shirt, completely at the mercy of a member of the Society of Leopold, a group of Vampire hunters so ruthless they made even Elders nervous. "You're Chastity, right?" She didn't really seem good-looking enough to me to be a stripper, but all they had to do was get naked, not look good doing it.

She laughed. "That's just my stage name. Figured it'd be appropriate for my fake stripper identity."

That confirmed it. I was in the situation every Vampire dreaded and hoped to never encounter. "What… what will you do to me?"

She looked almost compassionate when she said it. "I'll have to get the information from you. Same way you're loyal to your masters, so am I. They instructed me to find out the identity of the one who sent you, so that's what I'm going to do." She produced a clipboard and checked it, frowning. "Oh, and also perform some experiments on you."

_Oh God no_. "What… what kind of experiments?"

"Painful ones, I'm afraid. There's a few things about your kind's vulnerabilities we're not sure of yet. I mean, we know you light up like Christmas trees in sunlight, but other things are a bit less documented."

My throat contracted in fear, completely dry as I hungered. I knew it was a vain attempt, but I tried appealing to her faith regardless. "Aren't you priests? Supposed to help people instead of torturing them or experimenting on them?"

"People, yes. Not your kind. You know what you are, Vampire?"

I remained silent. Here it came, the self-righteous and deluded rant about how we were abominations.

She raised a hand and preached, "You are _rejected by God_. Pariahs, cast from His grace and His light, and by your very nature, irredeemable. Your existence serves as a test for us, His servants, to drive you back to nonexistence, from whence you came. And until the day of Judgment, you will suffer and writhe in eternal fire, and from your cheeks will stream all the tears of Hell." Her kind façade had fallen away, and her blue-green eyes were blazing with religious fervour.

"And here I was thinking you were of the reasonable sort."

She shook her head, going back to gentle-but-firm-schoolteacher mode, the fire in her eyes gone as quickly as it had appeared. This woman wasn't just someone who hunted me. The shift between personalities made me suspect she was almost certainly insane. "It's alright," she said, friendly again. "It's nothing you can understand. Nor should you."

She turned and called to someone. "Malcolm. Bring in the kit, please?"

A man came in, lugging a heavy suitcase. It was the guy with the faux-hawk that had tried to seduce me in the Asp Hole two days before.

I don't know why I asked, but I did. "If you're going to do this… can you at least cover me, please?"

'Chastity' turned back to me. "Mm?"

"Can you put a blanket or something over my legs? I feel… exposed." It was ridiculous since I was a Vampire and shouldn't care about the sanctity of my body anymore, but even though I was dead, wearing only my panties and T-shirt felt shameful, especially with a man there.

She nodded and covered me with my own blanket, up to my ribcage. "This will be painful enough for you already, no need to go through it feeling naked."

What she said brought the reality of the situation back to me. I was going to be tortured. Put through unimaginable pain. I wasn't a wimp, but maybe I could avoid the pain by appealing to their sense of logic. The result would be the same anyway, torture or not. "Look, I can just tell you what you want to know. You know, about the effects things have on our bodies. There's no need to – "

She placed a firm finger on my lips, looking scolding. "Shhh. Yes there is."

"If I just tell you – "

"Not enough," she said with a shake of her head.

"She's got a point," the faux-hawked guy said. "I mean, if she cooperates – "

"_No_. I'm ordered to make sure, Vampire, and your word's not enough, much as I wish it was." Then she asked the faux-hawked guy, "What was first? Electricity, yes?"

He hesitated, looking at the clipboard she'd laid on my legs. "Yes. Electricity."

With a nod, she clicked the suitcase's locks open and rummaged inside, pulling out a bunch of wires that ended in two pads. Gently sticking the pads onto my temple, she hooked the other ends to a small plastic unit. She set her hand to a dial, then looked at me. "I'm sorry about this, but I have a divine duty to fulfil."

She turned the dial and the pads sent a sharp, painful electroshock through my head. My teeth clenched and I let out a stifled groan, but that was it.

"Note, Malcolm," 'Chastity' said to her assistant. "Electroshocks to the temple have negligible effect. Increasing the voltage to humanly fatal levels."

She turned the dial again, all the way this time. My head felt as if it was being crushed flat, the pain racing through my body, making me twitch and buckle in my restraints as I heard myself shrieking. After a second that felt like an eternity, the current fell away.

"Any more than that and she'll catch fire," the Huntress remarked matter-of-factly. "Bit too early for that." Then she asked me, "So, the electroshocks did little, did they?"

"Th-this is-is-is p-pointless," I told her, still shaking from the voltage.

She gave a sour, disapproving frown.

"Next, water. Malcolm, take the samples out?"

She folded the blanket back, uncovering one of my hands, strapped by my side to the slab.

"Normal tap water…" I felt a slight coldness as the tip of my middle finger was dipped into a small petri dish of water. "No response."

She waited until Malcolm had ticked the box, then announced. "Rain water."

Again, the only thing I felt was the cold sensation of water.

"Water collected from a natural running source."

Same feeling.

"Hm. Make sure to note," she told her assistant, "running water is ineffective."

Of course it was ineffective. Vampires being repelled by running water was a fairy tale. But they wouldn't all be. Sooner or later they'd bring out the fire, or even worse, wait for the sunrise, just to be sure.

"Garlic, then."

A coarse and dry bulb was placed in my hand. "Be sure to grip it tightly, please."

I did so. Antagonizing these people would only prove more painful in the long run. Nothing happened of course. Vampires being repelled by garlic was another bullshit story.

"No response." The bulb was taken from me and there was a crackling sound outside of my vision. "Let's see if the taste has any effect." A broken-open clove of garlic was placed against my lips. "Stick your tongue out, please."

I did as she told even though the taste of normal food was abhorrent to us. I'd loved garlic when I was alive, but now it tasted like death. Unwillingly, I grimaced and turned my head away.

"Subject displays repulsion, but is not physically harmed by the garlic." She looked at the clove for a few seconds, then said, "Still, garlic appears to have _some_ kind of repellent effect." I said nothing. Let her think it was because it was precisely garlic instead of food in general. I knew trying to sabotage these experiments would be futile and ultimately more painful, but nothing obliged me to correct them if they made the wrong conclusions.

She sighed and sat down next to me, on my own bed. "Shall we start the more uncomfortable experiments now?"

I'd resigned myself to my fate and my situation, so even though I was terrified, I managed to defiantly spit, "Do your worst!"

"You make it sound as if I find joy in this," she said, faking a sad tone in her voice. "Believe me, this is necessary."

"Sure. But in the end you're an even bigger monster than I am. At least I try to fight my nature."

She was suddenly on her feet, a judging finger pointed down at me. "No, _demon_, the monster is you! You are a walking dead devil! You steal men's souls and make them your slaves! You steal children from their cribs to drain their blood! That the Lord's light can no longer shine upon you without condemning you to a fiery Hell, a short foretaste of the eternal fires you'll have to endure proves this! You are insults to His nature! Affronts! It is our _duty_, not our choice, to purify you!"

Having let go of all hope, I turned to Malcolm. "This one's well and rightly crazy."

The guy looked insecure, his eyes full of doubt as he cast them at the blonde.

"What?" she snarled. "_What_ did you say?"

"I said you're fucking chalada, arpìa! Even crazier than the most insane god damn Malk! And you know why? Because you're so far gone you actually believe what you're doing is right! They have a word for those people! People who justify their cruelty with self-righteous bullshit! They're called _hypocrites_, bitch! You're nothing but a fucking hypocrite!"

Her eyes were wild, her face livid as she kept her finger pointed at me. "I didn't enjoy the thought of what I was about to do, but I do now!" She reached into the suitcase and pulled out a blow torch, setting it alight. A horrible, terrible blue flame came out as she clicked the button, blazing a hot and awful blue. "Fire!" she shouted, almost hysterical. "Let's just skip to fire right away!"

As I saw the blue flame, my willpower and defiance drained away, replaced by a fear so great it took all control and I heard myself whimpering, "No, please, no, not the fire, please."

"Not such a big mouth now, have you?" she shrieked, her mouth contorted in an insane grin. "Cower some more, you pathetic piece of dead meat!"

"Please," I begged, no longer in control of myself, "don't burn me, please, please, _please_!"

"Beg for it, creature! Beg for salvation!" She brought the blowtorch closer and I felt the last of the blood in my body streaming down my cheeks in bloody tears of absolute terror. I kicked and tugged at my restraints but without any blood to burn, I was feeble and the bindings held.

"Lauren, come on, we know what fire – " the man tried to stop her.

"_Quiet_, Malcolm! We have to _make sure_!"

"_No_, I mean it, she's clearly terrified, she's not faking it, we don't have to – "

"_Shut up_, weakling! I'm going to – " She was interrupted by a cheerful little electronic ditty. "God _dammit_!" She was so furious she didn't even notice she'd blasphemed. Reaching into the pocket of her leather trenchcoat, she fished out her cell phone and checked the caller ID. "Bah! It's the Cardinal. I have to take this. Watch over this abomination." And with that, she clicked the blow torch off and stormed out of my room.

It was a small window in which I had to act. If I was going to do something, it had to be now. "Malcolm," I said to the man standing over me, watching me with concerned eyes. "I know you were taught otherwise, but I'm not a demon that needs to be tortured and destroyed." I'd seen the doubt in his eyes, ever since the electroshocks and the crazed rant of the Huntress. It was a slim chance but I had to take it now when I still had the time. "This isn't good work, it's pure cruelty."

"I… know," he said quietly. "I don't think Lauren's entirely in touch with reality anymore. She didn't use to be this way, you know, she – "

"Look," I interrupted him. "Just untie me and I promise not to hurt you, I'll simply run."

"Your name's Tanira, right?"

"Uh huh." What the Hell was he asking that for? The bitch could be back any second.

His eyes looked slightly vacant. "Can I… I mean, back in the club, when we… You've been on my mind ever since."

What the _Hell_? Was this guy declaring his love for me? Whatever, I didn't have time to wonder about the why's and the how's. "So free me then. Do what's right."

But he didn't say anything, just leaned in towards my face, closer and closer, until I felt the warmth of his breath on my lips, and then he kissed me.

The Hunger instantly took control of me and as soon as his lips touched mine, my teeth snapped closed on them, my jaws working on their own to tear his lips open so they'd release the most blood they could. He didn't struggle or try to break free. I drank voraciously, swallowing the warm, life-giving blood in greedy gulps, and as the Hunger was partially sated, I regained control over my body and with tremendous force of will, forced myself to stop drinking so the guy wouldn't lose so much blood it'd kill him. When my fangs retracted from his flesh, he woozily stood straight up, breathing hard. Then he smiled faintly, seemingly to himself, and as if still in the afterglow of ecstasy, breathed, "I knew you'd bite."

"Then why'd you…" I asked, completely surprised. But then I realized. Most humans didn't feel or remember the Kiss, but some, though not many, did. Usually when it was interrupted, or when it was particularly long. And some, very few, remembered the feeling that made them stop struggling and surrender to the bite. They all described it as ecstatic and overwhelming. And of those, there were those that managed to seek out the Vampire that had bitten them and ask, and even beg, to experience that feeling again. They became hooked to the Kiss.

That was what had happened to this one as well, addicted from the first hit. I hadn't been on his mind, the Kiss had been, even though he didn't realize. Like most mortals in his situation, he thought he was in love with the Vampire that had fed on him, and that giving her his blood was proof of his love. But giving his blood was what he was really in love with.

"We need to wrap this up, I need to – "

The crazy blonde cut herself off, her mouth dropping open when she saw her assistant standing dazed, drying blood caking his chin. The injuries on his lips were healing so rapidly you could see them close over (a property of the Kiss), but the blood said enough. "Malcolm, what have you _done_?"

Snapped out of his lethargy, Malcolm stood up to his mistress and boldly announced, "Lauren, I love her. I won't let you hurt her anymore."

Shit, he really _was_ addicted.

"Malcolm, have you gone _crazy_?"

He ignored the question. "Just go, Lauren. Leave us alone."

Looking more annoyed than anything else, she ordered, "Get out of the way, Malcolm. Celibacy has made you latch onto anyone and anything that'll rub up against you. Just stop this idiocy now and I won't report you to the Cardinal."

"No," I finally said, joining the conversation. "_You_ stop this idiocy and I won't tear your arms out of their sockets."

"Really," she scoffed. "You're still bound, stupid little corpse. So making threats fr – "

I was still bound yeah, but not for long. Malcolm's blood had given me some new energy, and more importantly, it had given me fuel for my Potence. Burning the fresh blood, I allowed Potence to increase my strength to superhuman levels, and with a grunt of effort, I pulled first my right arm, and then my left free, the restraints tearing apart, fibres flying through the room.

Lauren's eyes went wide in fear and she staggered back, reaching for the gun in her trenchcoat. I was first though, and snatched up the blow torch and launched it at her, the small gas canister striking her in the forehead with a loud metallic _dong_. The pistol flew from her hand and she was knocked back, almost falling over in the process, but somehow still keeping her footing.

As she staggered out the room, I pulled open the velcros on the straps that held my ankles and rolling off the slab, coming down on my feet and going after her, but it was too late, she'd already bolted for the exit, slamming the door behind her. I slammed the door open, but the hallway was already empty. She'd fled down the stairs, and pursuing her through the streets, hungry, barefooted and half-dressed would be a bad decision, much as I'd want to.

"Shit," I cursed, ramming my fist against the door. Then I noticed old mr. Irving, struggling to get to his feet. Despite my anger and my hunger, I took him by the wrists and helped him up. He felt fragile and withered in my hands. "I'm sorry about all this."

"Miss Del Rey," he scolded, "I don't know what kind of business you're into, but I draw the line at having to stay up all night because of all the noise and _then_ being bowled over when I come knocking to ask you to keep it down."

"It's… um, I had a burglar problem. It won't happen again."

Still frowning, he said, "It better not. I'm worried about you. Next time, I'm calling the cops, for your own good."

Old people always wanted to do things for people's own good, even if they weren't good things at all. Before he went back into his apartment, he turned and said, "And put some _clothes_ on."

"Yeah." Oh, I would. And then I'd go look for Lauren the crazy Huntress. But first, I had a few other things to attend to. When I came back in, I saw one of the matters was already attending to the other. Malcolm was cutting the ropes around LJ's wrists. The gag was already out of his mouth, and he was cursing like a sailor. A bright red swathe of blood ran down the side of his face. When he saw me though, his rage faded, making place for shame.

"Shee-it. I let you down, girl. I am sorry."

He'd let me down alright, letting them into my room. But there was no point giving him a beating for it. "It is what it is. You can make up for it by getting on your feet, washing your face and coming with me."

Malcolm was still busy cutting LJ's bonds. "What, you goin' after her? Now?"

"Can't wait another day," I called to him while I hoisted myself into my jeans in my room. I couldn't resist adding, "I think that's pretty obvious now. Right?"

I came back out of my room and saw LJ lowering his bloody head in shame. "Yeah. Guess y'all got a point."

I saw his gun lying on the ground and I slid it toward him with my foot before I took my boots. "Go on, you'll need this."

Malcolm had been silent the whole time. "Tanira," he said quietly. "What do you intend to do to Lauren?"

Sitting on my sofa and lacing my boots, I looked up at him. "What do you think?"

"I was hoping you wouldn't kill her. She wasn't always like this, you know. She used to be… well, normal."

"I'll kill her if she makes me," I told him, stretching the truth. "She was about to burn me alive."

"I know, I know, but still…"

"Yo," LJ asked me, sliding his .45 into his belt. "You sure we can trust this guy?"

When humans got hooked to the Kiss, it was like a Blood Bond. Very little could break that tie. Still, I needed to teach LJ a lesson, so I said, "I don't trust him any less than I trust you."

"Hey, yo," he protested, "I know I fucked up, aight? I feel shitty enough as it is, man."

"Just saying. Where will I find her, Malcolm?"

He hesitated for a moment, but told me anyway. "She's got an apartment above the Quad X. Brothel in Santa Monica."

"Brothel?" LJ echoed, laughing. "Din' know anyone still called it that."

"It's like 'mezzanine'," I said without much humour. "Malcolm, you're staying here. Until now, you haven't done anything that can come back on you, you can always say I charmed or dominated you, so there's still a way back for you. Don't go anywhere until I get back."

"And what if you don't come back?"

Before I closed the door behind me, I told him, "Don't quit your day job."


	6. Death Before Dishonour

Santa Monica seemed to be sliding down the tubes deeper and deeper every day. The streets were littered with papers, wrappers, cans, drug paraphernalia, and every other imaginable type of trash. Houses and buildings were in disrepair, and the weather seemed to join in the atmosphere by letting rain fall down in a lazy, dejected drizzle. The whorehouse Malcolm had spoken of lay deep in the seedy heart of the town, between a sex shop and a very suspicious looking hotel. It was a run-down three-storey apartment with above the door, red neon that blinked and said simply 'XXXX'. As if three X'es weren't hardcore enough. Did this damn woman have to associate every aspect of her cover with sex? Then again, it wasn't bad thinking, I realized. One of the last places you'd find a Vampire would be the ones that catered to carnal desires. Even for blood, because we all knew better than to drink from meth whores and other sluts carrying God-knows-how-many diseases. We Kindred didn't get sick, usually, but the blood itself was often spiked with drugs, which definitely wasn't desirable, and even though we were immune to most illnesses, there existed vampiric diseases that humans could unknowingly carry, and of which the worst ones could kill Kindred within days.

"So this were it at," LJ remarked without much enthusiasm as I hung up my cell phone. I'd had to call someone and ask him a very special question.

"Yeah. She'll probably know we're coming, so she probably won't even be there, but if she's not, we can search the place at least."

"Hope she is tho. That bitch fuckin' broke my skull."

"Yeah, well, you're only here as protection, alright?" I told him. "Unless you have to, you do nothing else than watch my back."

"Shee-it."

I felt my skin crawl as I came in, LJ by my side. The lights were a uniform red, and generic droning bass music was pumping through the speakers. The bar itself was empty, apart from the three girls in lingerie that stood at the bar, flaunting the goods.

"Now this is what I like to see," the bartender called out, an overweight 30-something year old guy wearing a T-shirt with an arrow on the chest pointing upwards and an arrow on the gut pointing downwards. The upward arrow was marked 'THE MAN', and the downward one 'THE LEGEND'. How quaint. "Black and white, racial harmony. I got some Asian pussy for ya if ya wanna complete the tricolour?"

LJ chuckled at the man's idiocy, but I wasn't that amused. "We're not a couple. And we don't want your walking bags of STDs either."

"Whoa," the bartender protested. "You five-oh or something? This place is totally legit."

I felt a short stab of regret at that. "No. We're not cops."

"Then what's with all the hate, woman?"

That put LJ in motion. Conspiratorially, he said to the bartender, "See, that's what I been tellin' her the whole _time_, man. Hate's exhaustin', gotta let some love in. If we all start talkin' smack at one another, man, can't get anythin' done anymore. You gotta – "

"LJ!"

He seemed to suddenly remember why we were there. "Aight. Imma shut up."

"Thanks."

The bartender seemed unimpressed by the entire exchange. "Well, whatever the fuck y'are then, if y'ain't here to shop, then I'll have to ask ya to leave."

"Wish I could," I said. It was the truth, the place made me feel dirty, "but I need some information first."

He rolled his eyes. "Another dipshit that needs information."

I'd had enough of his bullshit. Taking out my pistol, I whipped him across the face with the barrel in one quick move. There was a short _thud_ and his nose was broken, gushing blood as he clapped his hands over it. The whores chirped among themselves, surprised and scared. LJ pulled his .45 and aimed it at the women, holding it sideways. He really did watch too much TV. "Gotta keep calm, ladies. Just a friendly convo, talkin' out a diff'rence in opinion, y'feel me?"

At least that had been a good reflex of him. I boosted myself over the counter and grabbed the ailing bartender's collar. "Sorry," I apologized, not meaning a bit of it. "I meant to hit you a lot harder."

"What do ya want, god dammit?" Some broke quickly.

"Blonde woman with a broken heart tramp stamp. What apartment?"

Still holding his nose, blood gushing between his fingers, he growled, "Could have just fuckin' _asked_ me that."

"Yeah, but this is more fun." The smell of his blood reminded me of my hunger.

"Apartment 2b."

"Key?"

He fished in his pocket and took out a bloody piece of metal. "Master key."

"A master key to the apartments? Naughty."

"What? Ya gonna break my nose again?"

I had a better idea. "No. LJ, send these ladies to the back room or wherever it is they go to let themselves get humped."

The bartender's eyes became panicked. "Whoa, hey, come on! Don't kill me man, that ain't right!"

"Relax. You're not going to die," I assured him. Better that he didn't panic. It made blood go sour, or maybe that was just my imagination.

He hadn't heard it apparently, "You want money? Take it, just don't kill me."

From the corner of my eye, I saw LJ going into the back room with the whores. He better not get any funny ideas. "Shh, relax. I have to tell you something."

I drank until my hunger was satisfied, taking care not to let him bleed to death. I was even kind enough to pack tissues into his broken nose while he stood dazed, and then to lower him onto a chair. If he reported any of it to the cops, they'd probably just nod their heads and then think to themselves he shouldn't have gotten so drunk and crashed down the stairs.

To my surprise, LJ calmly sat on a chair, his pistol still pointed at the three whores, who had huddled together in bed. "Let's go, LJ." Then I told the women, "your pimp isn't dead, he'll be alright, but if you dare call him an ambulance, I'll come back on all of you."

One of them, a blonde, began talking gibberish, something Slavic sounding.

"Shee-it," LJ remarked. "God damn Euro whores."

I simply pointed my thumb back at the bar, then gave the women a thumbs-up. They seemed to understand, and so I pointed at them, "You," and made a cross over my mouth with my finger. "Or," I drew a finger across my throat. "Okay?"

They nodded furiously, scared to death.

"Good."

We went up the stairs to apartment 2b. I turned the key in the lock, and it clacked open. The inside looked like any other seedy shit apartment, only the bible on the table and the cross hung to the wall made it clear that this was the right apartment. We both had our guns out, sweeping them across the place, LJ still holding his sideways, the buffoon.

Lauren the Huntress was sitting in a sofa in the living room, obviously expecting us. "Sit down. Let's talk first."

"What's there to say?" I said, not sitting.

She shrugged. "Not much, I suppose. I knew you'd come. I guess it's safe to conclude 'mission failed' now." She was holding a glass of wine, but didn't drink.

"I think so, yeah."

"Got a call from the Cardinal. I'm being declared psychologically unfit for duty, and all support towards me is being retracted. In other words, he's leaving me high and dry."

"Bummer."

"Yeah." She rose from her sofa, prompting a jerk of sharpened attention from LJ and me. "It's alright, the fight's out of me." I'd believe that when she was dead. What the Hell was she planning? She went to the wall and slowly took a katana and matching wakizashi. Was she going to challenge me to a duel, to go out fighting? But when she sat down on her knees and laid out the wakizashi in front of her, I understood what her intention was.

"Whoa, easy, girl," LJ warned as she lifted the katana. "Or I'm blowin' a hole in yo' fake blonde dome."

"It's okay, LJ. I'm pretty sure I know what she wants."

Lauren held out the sheathed katana, hilt-first, towards me. "I know something's wrong with me, you know, in my head. Even Malcolm's turned his back on me now." She sighed, still holding the curved sword. "I've always loved the whole samurai culture. Tried to live by its code as long as I could, while I was still right in the head. So it makes sense I'd try to at least end things that way."

"Whoa," LJ breathed, "You gonna do like, hara-kiri?"

"Seppuku's the non-vulgar term to describe it," she corrected him, slightly indignant. "But yes." Then she turned her blue-green eyes to me again. They were clear, without the slightest trace of insanity. "I've done too many awful things to make right in this lifetime. It's only right that I take my own life, with the help of my vanquisher. You've earned that honour."

"Bitch is crazy, man," LJ remarked. I didn't think he was wrong either. For Vampires, suicide was simply unthinkable. The will to exist was stronger than anything, and the Beast rode on its back.

"Lauren, this is insane," I said. "Besides, no matter how honourable you think it is, running from the bad things you've done is still running."

"Oh don't worry," she said, with an accepting smile, unsheathing the wakizashi. "I'm just giving myself a horribly painful ticket to Hell. I want nothing else than to pay for my sins there. You know what to do?"

I'd heard of seppuku, apparently it involved cutting oneself across the abdomen, but I had no idea what I was supposed to do with the katana. "Uh… not really. But – "

"I need to bear it in complete quiet. So if I falter, one sweep, as hard as you can, taking my head off. That's all."

"Lauren, listen…"

She looked up at me again, her eyes sad and filled with tears. "Please… as soon as I make a sound, bring the blade down. Do it fast and clean."

"You don't have to do this, Lauren. Hell's a fairy tale, you can't kill yourself and hope you'll repent after that. Do you truly want to make right what you've done wrong? Do you truly want to pay for what you've done?"

Tears ran down her face now. "I wish I could, after all I've done. I don't know why it took me so long to realize. I actually thought I was doing the right thing, you know? But even Malcolm's turned away from me now, and only now I realize." She brought the wakizashi up, aimed at her belly, ready to plunge it down.

In the second her arms tensed to disembowel herself, my mind raced, trying to decide whether to let her go through with her plan, or whether to stop her from killing herself in a gruesome and painful manner. On the one hand, having to disembowel oneself with a short sword was terribly painful and nothing any human or supernatural being deserved. On the other hand, this woman had done terrible things – I doubted that what she'd intended to do to me had been the worst of the things she'd perpetrated in her ever more insane crusade to destroy anything that wasn't holy. If her own superiors, not exactly people who shied away from brutal torture either, had dropped her like a stone, it meant she really had gone badly over the edge, and deserved to feel the cold iron of the blade slicing through her skin and inside, the intestines exposed to the air and shrieking in pain as they bulged out of her. On the other hand, if she truly wanted to repent, she deserved the chance. This pain, no matter how terrible it would be, would be short and fleeting, and then she'd get to rest, because there was no Hell. At least not when you died a human death.

As the wakizashi flashed down, I caught her wrist, stopping the blade from impaling her abdomen. Tears still running freely, she looked up at me. "What are you…"

"Do you want to repent?"

"Yes, so let me – "

"Do you want to go to Hell instead of getting off easy?"

"_Yes_, let me _go_."

I wrenched the wakizashi from her hand and let it clatter to the ground. "There's only one Hell, and that's the one I'm about to take you to."


	7. Epilogue

"So, guess that's that, huh?" LJ said, concentrating on the road as he drove us back to downtown LA.

"Yep."

"I gotta say, despite yo' bullshit every now an' then, I had a good time workin' wit'you."

"Yeah," I said, the admission itself giving me a pleasant feeling. "It wasn't bad."

"So what you goan do wit' dat lovestruck fool?"

"I don't know. I should really get a ghoul of my own. And since he likes being drunk from so much, he's a good candidate."

LJ shrugged. "My boss-man's not gonna be back fo' a while. I can stick wit'you if you wanna?"

That got a chuckle out of me. "No, that's alright. I'm a terrible boss anyway. Just look at what happened to your head. And it's only been a day or two."

"Aight." His face was impossible to read.

We arrived at my apartment. "You uh, wanna come up for a coke or something?"

Leering, he said, "What up wit' dat, girl? Thought you people din' invite nobody up after a date anymore?"

I laughed. "It's nothing like that. Still need to pay you your extra."

"Aight, lead on."

No sooner had I carded my door open, or Malcolm jumped to his feet, holding his hands together in front of his chest. "You're back."

"Yep."

"Is she…"

I shook my head. "Best if you don't ask."

That seemed to have said enough. "I see. She didn't suffer, did she?"

"No. Didn't feel a thing."

He sighed and sat down on the sofa. "That's… good, I suppose. So what do you want me to do now?"

"I called my Master," I explained, "and he said it's okay if you stay with me."

He wrung his hands. "And uh… would you like me to?"

"Sure. Can always use a hand." From the expression on his face, I saw that reply wasn't quite what he'd hoped.

"I… thought you'd be a little bit more enthusiastic."

LJ chuckled and answered in my place. "You clearly don' know dis girl."

"I'll warm up to you," I told him, "if you prove you're worth it." But I had to hastily add, "I mean, warm up to you in a non-romantic way."

He was still somewhat disappointed, but I could see that he still harboured a tiny flicker of hope, that I'd get the same feelings for him as he thought he had for me. But that would never happen. Some Vampires allowed their ghouls to have sex with them just to keep them happy, faking enjoyment, but I didn't think that'd be something I'd ever do.

I walked to my safe, tapped in the combination, and took out a wad of a thousand. That should be enough to cover LJ's tab. And it was, judging from the satisfied grin he made when he counted the money. "Much obliged, girl. You need my help again, you jus' gimme a call, yo?"

"Will do. I'll follow you downstairs."

We rode the elevator in the same silence we'd kept when we'd gone up the first time, only this time the silence was far more bearable. The guy had done an okay job, apart from letting himself get surprised during the day.

We stood in the chilly night air, next to LJ's Discovery.

"You going to be alright?" I asked him.

"Mos' def. Just gotta step on the gas, y'know?"

"Yeah, you won't have that much time."

He held out his fist, and in what was for me a rare display of indulgence, I tapped mine on his and allowed him to do the same in reverse. Then he got in, and as parting words, said, "I got faith in you girl. Rise above, aight?"

"I'll try."

"See you again sumday, yo?"

"Maybe. But you'd best get going." I looked at the motionless body in the back seat. "You only have a few hours before she Awakens."


End file.
